


Reaching In Blue Skies

by Venn_Circeles



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Crossdressing, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sephiroth is a good person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venn_Circeles/pseuds/Venn_Circeles
Summary: After an unfortunate run in with the law, Cloud enters a pageant to afford the legal fees. He must confront his past, including the events of a fateful summer three years ago in the sleepy resort town of Costa del Sol.AU with canon elements.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Comments: 12
Kudos: 107





	1. Prologue

_Costa del Sol, 3 years ago._

In romance novels, the first kiss is a spark racing down a fuse, the prelude to a glorious explosion of new experiences. Sephiroth discovered this was not always the case in reality. But he was patient, he understood relationships didn’t work the way they were often portrayed in books, and he knew the couples he observed in his own experience — such as the troops reluctantly leaving their families to return to military service, the couples on the street or in other habitats like the back row of theaters — these were mere snapshots that didn’t encompass the way a relationship grew and changed.

He knew the beginning would be a mess of hormones and intense physiological desires, and he knew the payoff would be a slow deepening of their feelings, such that desire transformed into a mere ripple across the surface of profound love. So, despite the heat in his blood, the urge to be close to Cloud, he held it off with vast reserves of patience and waited.

Cloud seemed happy enough to simply be near Sephiroth. They came close to repeating the kiss. Particularly in the last few days, when they were sure nobody was watching, Cloud would lean up and press their mouths together.

Otherwise, life proceeded much the same as before. They’d go to the beach and watch the sun slide past the horizon, it’s dying rays turning the sky red as slaughter. And they’d talk, as usual, about mundane things.

Looking back, now, they had both been afraid. They skirted carefully around their lives, talked only of their days in the beach town of Costa del Sol. They were happy conversations, blissful and carefree, unfettered by duty or obligation.

When Sephiroth was with Cloud, he forgot his demons. When he saw that brilliant smile, his heart soared and he felt human again. How easy it was to deceive himself that their time together would last, that he had indeed been cured by this sojourn to the coast — albeit not by any fresh, seaside air, but by this man he’d met.

They were sitting at the pier, legs dangling over the waves crashing below them.

“Time passes swiftly here, like a dream,” Sephiroth murmured.

“Funny, I was about to say the same,” Cloud replied. “I don’t even remember what day it is. It’s nice. As if you’ve travelled to another world.”

Sephiroth reached for Cloud’s hand, gently nudged the side of his palm. Cloud twined their fingers together. And that was all that would happen, Sephiroth knew. Though his heart ached, he was grateful for the contact.

“I have something important to tell you, Cloud.”

Cloud looked at him, curious about his formal tone.

Sephiroth squeezed his hand. “I’m leaving,” he said, softly. “I just received the news this morning. There’s been an incident, and I’m needed at the front line.”

“What?” Cloud said, uncomprehending. Sephiroth gave him a moment, watching understanding flicker across the man’s face. “I’ll come with you!”

“No.” Sephiroth almost growled. Cloud didn’t know what he was asking. He didn’t know about the danger, the crushing despair, the way war broke people’s minds and had almost broke his own. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Look,” Cloud was saying, voice rising. “You can’t just leave, not now, not when—” He gestured at something vague and immaterial, at a loss for words.

“What?” Sephiroth said softly. That familiar ache was back in his heart. “Can you give it a name, Cloud? The thing that’s between us?”

A noise of frustration worked its way free from the other man’s throat. He could only shake his head, eyes bright.

“I can’t, I can’t…”

Sephiroth’s lips thinned. He disentangled their hands, leaving Cloud’s to hanging limply off the side of the pier. He switched tack. “You are a _normal_ citizen. You deserve a life in peace, with someone who will reliably come home to you, someone whom you can start a family with. Don’t tell me that’s not what you want, Cloud. I know you better than that.”

“And you? You’re going back to ShinRa? Sacrificing yourself to those people who don’t give a damn about you? They’re using you, Sephiroth!”

Their voices were rising until they were almost shouting.

Sephiroth snarled. “That’s right, it’s a sacrifice. It’s a sacrifice I choose to make because I am _not_ who you think I am, Cloud. This—” he gestured between them, the thing Cloud refused to name and thus bring into existence. He felt the tenuous humanity he clung to stretch to breaking point. “—as you’ve helpfully supplied, _is not real.”_

He stood in one fluid movement.

“You’re just going to leave? You’re not going to talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

Cloud’s jaw dropped. He worked it soundlessly for a moment. “Fine. Run back to ShinRa. They’ll use you up, throw you away when you’re a shell of yourself. ”

Sephiroth was quiet. “I thought I loved you.”

Cloud made that anguished noise again, but didn’t respond.

He left Cloud at the pier. Cloud cut a lonely figure with his shoulders slumped, defeated, the horizon stretching in a flat, lifeless line in front of him. The dying sun cast him into a deep shadow in stark relief against the red ocean. Sephiroth turned away from that painful image and made his way down the street back to his hotel.

The flight back to Midgar was booked for the next day, but he called Reeve who was more than happy to reschedule it for tonight. Such were the advantages of private jets. A familiar exhaustion washed over him and robbed the strength from his limbs. He slowed and took in Costa del Sol for the last time. There were the neon lights, the ice-cream shop across the street with its little red door shut tight, the peace of a little town content to pack up for the night. A scrap of litter blew across the street, the only remnant of a bustling day.

He imprinted it all in his memory — this happy town, those happy moments he’d shared — before returning to his hotel.


	2. Serendipity

There was no starlight in the slums. Cloud wheeled Fenrir down meandering streets he knew like the back of his hand. Every few meters, a flickering lamp revealed the wet concrete in front of him. He was on his way home after dropping off a cargo of wine at the Seventh Heaven bar, his last delivery for the week. The payment would be enough to tide him through the next month.

He turned down an alleyway lined with drunks and the homeless, who squatted underneath the relative shelter of the shop awnings. The catcalls and the cries of beggars fell on deaf ears as he continued down the streets, unwilling to disturb the cool night air with the offending stench of petrol.

Someone was blocking his way. Cloud scowled and brought Fenrir to a standstill.

“Move,” he said, voice flat.

“Whoa, handsome, no need for that attitude.” It was a man with a pink mohawk and gold studs in his ears. He wore a fishnet shirt that was too tight and ripped in the seams. (For fashion? Or an artifact of a late night brawl?) Even meters away, Cloud could smell the pungent stench of alcohol on his breath.

It was a Saturday night, when all the men were off work and the bars were full. Cloud specialised in late night deliveries. He preferred the silence, the strange suspense of a city normally full of activity hitting the pause button at night after the clubs have shut their doors.

Cloud made to move his vehicle around the man, but pink-mohawk intercepted him.

“Why don’t you come home with me?”

The man sounded surprisingly sober. “Got a bunch of boys who’d love ya,” he added, ruining the effect.

“No. And I don’t swing.”

That seemed to incite a reaction, rather the opposite to what Cloud was hoping for. The man approached, heedless of Fenrir’s intimidating bulk, enough to run him over with a simple twist of Cloud’s wrist on the accelerator. Before Cloud realised what he was doing, the man was pinching his ear, hard.

Cloud hissed in pain, clapping a hand to his ear and glaring daggers.

The man laughed. “I knew you had a piercing. You looked the type. Still in the closet are ya? Or just laying low?”

“Neither. What part of ‘don’t swing’ do you not understand?”

The man leered. “You know, I hate your type the most. You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh? Just gotta blend in with the normies, reject all your pals, pretend you never knew them. It hurts man, it fucking hurts us, but you’re selfish. You don’t care. And you leave us behind to pick up the pieces. Well I think your type deserves to get a cactus shoved up your ass.”

Cloud turned his bike around. He’d take another route; it’ll take a little longer, but he wasn’t in the mood for a fight.

“Hey! Don’t run. Which side are you on, huh? Why’re you not talking? You dumb too? You need me to punch some sense into ya?”

Cloud was prepared when the first attack came and caught the fist in his palm. His assailant was caught off guard and leapt back, circled warily around Cloud for a few seconds before flying in again with a drunkard’s bravado, a flurry of kicks, bites and punches, shouting incoherent slurs. Cloud parried with ease, mako-blue eyes seeing the man’s movements appear in slow motion.

It brought back unpleasant memories of schoolyard fights. He had been a skinny kid, short and small for his age. _Hey Cloud, what kinda name is that huh? You a sissie, Cloud? Come on, Cloud-y, prove you’re not a wuss. Ha ha! Sissy, sissy, sissy…_ He’d took everything to heart back then. But growing up came the realisation that small-town children were sheltered and had little knowledge of the wider world. Young children lived in packs, driven by fear or some native survival instinct to fit in. It was easy to forgive them for that, but rather than fade away, the taunts changed as he grew older. The difference between Cloud and the others that could have simply been chalked up to a smaller stature and shy demeanour transformed into something more specific, that painted him an easy target.

At middle school, Cloud did his best to ignore the rumours about him exchanged at lunchtime. The final hurt came the day before graduation, when Cloud found a note in his locker from the crush he’d nursed since seventh grade. They were going to meet at the gardener’s shed behind the school. He’d confess at last, it was the last thing he’d resolved to do before graduation. He had put on his best school clothes, shined his shoes and waited for that sturdy profile to appear, the subject of too many guilty dreams. Instead, there’d been a crowd of boys. What a poor, naïve child he’d been, weeping silently as they dunked his head in the toilet, then the chocobo muck beside the shed. Afterwards, he lay on the ground silent and stinking as they raked leaves through his hair. Ever since then, the laughter, taunts and jeers were never far from his mind.

He was so cautious now. No one could ever find out, no one could ever know…

He’d gotten his right ear pierced in a burst of immature adolescent pride. He heard it was a subtle way to find others like him, who were gay. Being an outcast anyway, another blemish on the record wouldn’t hurt. But something gave him away today. Cloud experienced a moment of panic – what was it? The way he walked? His clothing? Surely the man could not have saw the nearly closed remnant of the pierced ear hidden under a shaggy mass of blond hair, especially in the dark?

These anxious thoughts swirled through his mind like a miasma. He’d only intended to act in self-defence, but he felt his movement becoming more aggressive, pushing his assailant back.

He loathed this part of himself, refused to give it a name, wishing it away like he wished he knew his father, or he were taller. But a part of him also whispers - _it’s inseparable from you Cloud. If you hate it so, then you hate yourself too, hate and deny the fact of your very existence._

Yet, there had been one moment of short-lived joy. Cloud remembered a long summer years ago at a little seaside town, spent with a man with jade-green eyes.

When he came back to himself, he stared at blood stained knuckles, trembling. Swearing under his breath, he hoisted the limp unresponsive body over his shoulder, shuddering at the smell of fresh vomit, sweat, blood and the rank stench of alcohol underlying it all.

“Shit, I’m sorry… I’ll get you to healer.”

_Planet, what is wrong with me?_

* * *

The rude buzzing sound of the alarm clock, like a cloud of very angry hornets, woke Cloud unceremoniously from sleep. He groaned, slapped the battered plastic contraption and blinked open crusted eyes.

He was sure it was too early, but the peek of sunlight through the horizontal slats of his blinds said otherwise. _Ah,_ he remembered. It had been a late night. He’d… lost control of himself. After beating up the drunkard accosting him on the street, he’d driven him to the nearest healer where they’d fixed him up without asking, yet there was the unmistakable prickle of judging eyes on his back the entire time. No questions, was the rule of the slums. They hadn’t asked for Cloud’s number and Cloud hadn’t planned to stick around to see to the man’s recovery. This kind of thing happened all the time, and it was an unwritten rule that everyone turned a blind eye – the Slum’s code of honour between thieves and bastards.

Twenty-five years, single, not a virgin thanks to a short fling many years ago. Cloud brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. He stared at his reflection. Grim, mako-blue eyes stared back at him.

Yawning, he walked into the kitchen, put a kettle on the boil and selected teabags from the collection he kept in the corner of the counter, next to the small dingy window. Three bags of black tea went into the mug Tifa had given him last Christmas. It was made of ceramic and shaped like a funny, lopsided cat. He liked his caffeine in the morning. There was a coffee maker standing unused and collecting dust and lint in the corner. He should really put that thing away, but it filled him with an odd sentimentality.

He added a splash of milk to his tea, one tablespoon exactly. Cloud lived by himself in a small, one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Sector 6. It was a cosy spot, a tad cold in the winter – there were tiny gaps in the slats that let in a draught but made for a pleasant breeze during the Summer. Useful, because Mako Reactors created a greenhouse effect that made it unbearably hot and humid. He had Fenrir in the garage downstairs with an adjoining workshop as well – the previous owner had been a hobbyist mechanic and had entrusted her tools to Cloud as part of the rent. The owner herself had downsized into a little beach-house.

Cloud envied her, but he was far from the age where he’d be living off his retirement savings. He worked as a courier of normal and extraordinary goods. While normally not the most lucrative job, his short stint in the military made him an attractive candidate for a small elite group of well-paying customers. It got him into occasional binds, of course, but that kept him on his toes.

His PHS beeped when it turned on. A message from Zack. He’d been staying over at his girlfriend Aeris’ place lately. It’s a good thing, Cloud thought, smiling. Aeris would appreciate some extra muscle in her garden and Zack would finally stop mooning over the girl when they were separated for more than a day. Zack had attached a delivery request, a bouquet for an address in sector 3 – that was all the way on the opposite side of the city. Cloud sighed. The message read: _compensation and dinner afterward, how about it Spike?_

Cloud typed out: _Sure. I’ll pay, I know business has been tough for you guys lately._

The PHS beeped again. Zack was up early this morning. _Aw, appreciate it, but I’m a man of means, Spike - wouldn’t dream about it._

A man of means who lived in his girlfriend’s house and was ‘employed’ by her business. A small smile stole over his lips. Zack was a good man, his best friend. It was tough adjusting to a civilian lifestyle. Cloud remembered vividly the tough few months after leaving the SOLDIER program, having to eke out a living on the streets. He had his delivery business now, largely through word of mouth and help from Tifa, his childhood friend and co-owner of a successful bar in Sector 7.

A knock on the door. Cloud got up, opened it a slit.

“Mail. Cloud Strife?”

“Yep.”

The postman doffed his hat. He glanced at the clipboard in his back, scrutinised Cloud’s face, nodded to himself then handed over an envelope.

“A good day to you, sir.”

“Thanks.” Cloud let the door fall gently close behind the postman. There was a flyer printed on cheap pink paper stuck to the back of the envelope that he removed and set to one side. The envelope had an official stamp bearing the local civilian enforcement division of ShinRa on the cover, a design that appeared to be a stylised map of Midgar imposed on a lattice of blue and white checkers. Cloud settled himself on the couch and tore open the envelope.

It was a formal notice of legal action against him for causing grievous bodily harm and assault to Herr Romanstrau, first class citizen, neo-sector 5, Upper Plate Midgard. Cloud stared at the date. That was yesterday… he tried to remember if he’d accidentally ran over any pompous upper-class citizen with Fenrir but drew a blank. _Of course_ , he slapped a hand on his forehead in disbelief. It was pink mohawk guy.

The letter was almost a novelty. These matters were taken care of much less publicly, with more surprises in the Slums. Like a dagger from the least expected place.

He was to show up to court, if he had representation, or else a lawyer would be procured for him by the charities set up for the purpose. Or, he may settle it privately, for a modest sum of… Cloud tried to blink away those extra zeros, sure he was still dreaming, but the number didn’t change.

Cloud flopped back on the sofa. He was going to have to take on extra, maybe some less… scrupulous jobs he’d normally reject offhand, call in some of his old contacts. He mentally began reorganizing his calendar.

He picked up the flyer and gave it a glance, already making his way towards the trashcan. However, what he saw gave him pause, and he took out his PHS again to dial an unfamiliar number.

“ _Reagan & co., professional print and photography services speaking. How may I help you?” T_he polite, almost wheedling voice said through the loudspeaker.

“Um, hi, I heard you’re looking for a, um, _‘person of character, wit and vivacity’_ to enter a… pageant _?_ I’d like to try out.”

The person on the other side snorted. _“Sorry. You see, we are an agency that models women’s clothing.”_

“Oh I see.” Cloud gripped the PHS tighter. “50,000 gil right? And 100.000 gil if you win the whole thing?”

_“Yes. Quite right.”_

“What will change your mind?” When an opportunity like that did, in fact, slide up on his doorstep on a cheap printed flyer he intended to take it his chances. He didn’t bet on winning the whole thing, but even the participation payment would go a long way to help cover the settlement fees. It would be at least months of work.

 _“Look, you’re a very persistent man. But the fact stands that you are a man,”_ the voice over the phone said, exasperated. _“However, if you insist, I am happy to meet you in my office this afternoon.”_ Cloud jotted down the address and thanked Reagan, who had introduced himself as the sole owner of the company (& co had since sold his share) only at the end of their conversation.

In the afternoon, Cloud drove past a tall, gray, dilapidated concrete building. After checking the building numbers, he doubled back, staring up at the dank exterior. Parking Fenrir outside, he pressed on the buzzer.

“ _Second floor._ ”

At the second floor, stood a small man with a very large head covered by a floppy red hat. He was scowling, an expression obviously unfamiliar to his jolly pink face, but upon seeing Cloud, for a moment his features turned calculating. “I’m Reagan. You must be, ah?”

“Cloud.”

“Yes, of course! From the phone call this morning.” Reagan nodded. “Well, now, initially I thought there was nothing to discuss! But you cut quite a figure, if I do say so myself.”

“Thanks?”

They entered the office. Though the walls shared the look of damp disrepair like the exterior of the building, Reagan had made every effort to introduce comforts to the room. There was the desk, a large, official looking mahogany table pushed against the window. A fluffy pink carpet covered the floorboards. Set aside from the main office was a small adjoining area with a couch and low glass table. Photographs and sketches were pinned to the walls. Cloud was mindful of avoiding the plants potted in clay and porcelain vases Reagan sprinkled around the place like a bushy green afterthought. 

When they’d both settled down on the couch, Reagan pulled out a sheaf of papers and selected a few pages for Cloud. They were details of a ‘Queen Midgar’ pageant. Morale in the slum hovered below a neutral on the best of days. In order to stave off attempts at rebellion, in addition to the military arm, ShinRa also employed the clandestine operations of a smaller, elite subbranch of the Turks – for the tasks that required a delicate touch. Like influencing public opinion of a certain mayor, political party, the power eddies in the black market and so forth. To this end, they planned events designed to mollify the masses to keep them distracted and happy. Indeed, the opinion polls on the Midgar Gazette have been trending a little low during recent weeks. The story fit.

Reagan explained the entry requirements, the various stages (costume, evening dress, the dreaded interview). It seemed… harmless enough.

“There’s one _small_ catch.” Reagan seemed apologetic, almost wringing his hands. “But, I believe you are very well suited to it and it may even turn out to our advantage. You will need to wear women’s clothing. The pageant runs next week so we don’t have time to find a new supplier.”

Cloud thought of the publicity of the event, the visibility of it and paled, the familiar fear of being discovered worming through his gut. But he’d have compensation to the effect of 50,000 gil for just his participation not counting the extra 100,000 gil payable by winning the competition itself. **He** thought of months of coming home after late nights, dodging ShinRa law enforcement as he delivered drugs and firearms to people who’d just as likely try cut off a limb than pay him, compared to this simple job. Logically, he knew it was as simple as signing his name for 50,000 gil to be deposited to his account. It didn’t mean anything, if he wore a dress. It was just for the gil. He asked Reagan for the contract.

Reagan slipped Cloud a form and indicated where he should put his signature. Cloud signed his name on the line. He stared as the paper was put neatly away in Reagan’s black pocket bag, the clasp closing with an efficient snap.

At the door, Reagan pressed a piece of paper with his contact details into Cloud’s palm and extracted a promise that Cloud would tell him any concerns before waving him away.

Cloud stood on the threshold, dazed, somewhat unsure about exactly what he’d appended his signature to. He fumbled open his PHS and dialed Zack.

* * *

“ _What?”_ Zack put down his knife and fork and leaned precariously over the table.

Cloud was picking at his meal. “It’s been a weird day.”

Aeris chewed silently on Zack’s other side, green eyes alert and pensive. He’d told his friends all about the events of this morning as they sat down to a home cooked meal of veal and potatoes.

“It all sounds rather exciting, don’t you think?” Aeris offered. “I think Cloud would look lovely in a dress.”

Cloud blushed. Aeris had a way of saying things with such warmth and conviction it was hard to disagree with her. “Thanks Aeris.” He forced himself to swallow a forkful of veal. “It’s just too… public.”

Zack and Aeris’ eyes widened in understanding. Cloud stifled a smile at their synchronisation. Living together had done wonders.

“We’ll all be there to support you, Spike. Tifa, Barret, Aeris… we’ll invite the whole crew. And if anyone says a word out of line they’ll be kissing my fist,” Zack said.

Aeris patted Cloud on the shoulder.

“You know,” she said softly. “I know you don’t feel so good about this now, but me and Zack both… we’re happy for you. We were so worried about you before, but I think something good might come out of this, you know? Sometimes we face our demons head on and realise they’re less scary than we thought.”

Cloud forced a smile. “Yeah… maybe you’re right.”

They finish their meal in a contemplative silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! Dun dun.
> 
> The piercing thing is something they used to do (back when piercings were less commonplace) to indicate that you were gay.


	3. Reagan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First stage of pageant.

The first thing Cloud saw was Reagan’s distinctive red hat like a honing beacon. He parked Fenrir at the outskirts of the fair, at the moment still a motley collection of half finished tents. Pulling off his goggles he made his way towards Reagan, who hurried towards him as he saw Cloud approach.

“Why! Cloud! I’m so glad you came.”

Cloud ducked his head. “I signed the form, didn’t I? And besides, I need the gil.”

“Of course, of course. Gil is what wakes a man up in the morning. Not to worry, I will transfer the first half of your 50,000 this afternoon. I am an honest man.”

Cloud glanced at the tent-city around them. It was a busy place, mostly workers hammering away. Occasionally, he saw others dressed more casually. Those were probably the other contestants.

“Come, this way.” Reagan propelled Cloud towards a large, white tent set up in the center of the commotion. Reagan guided Cloud to a small door set in the side, away from the main path.

They entered a small, crowded waiting room with green plastic chairs set up. Most of the chairs were occupied. There was a low hubbub of voices from all the contestants gathered. It was a motley bunch, with only a cursory glance at the room, Cloud saw few people, but also booted cats squatting on the chairs, their hind legs dangling several inches off the ground; a man with tribal tattoos leaning in a corner, scowling; even children with bright pink tutus clinging on to their parents’ arms.

“What kind of pageant is this?” Cloud whispered to Reagan.

Reagan whispered back, “Well it _used_ to be a normal pageant, where you have your showgirls and models, but the people were getting restless you see. They were sick of ShinRa -- and I mean no disrespect to our illustrious benefactor, I am merely stating facts — having a hand in everything in their lives, telling them what beauty was. They wanted diversity! Choice! And so the Queen Midgar pageant was born, to celebrate new and unusual standards of beauty. Of course, everyone knows the whole thing is a front. Once you satisfy people’s petty concerns they forget about the real issues, as they say.”

Suddenly, the door at the far end of the room opened and a lady with a clipboard emerged. She called out a name. One of the cats hopped out of the chair and went inside.

“There they go. This is the first round, it’s just an interview, where they weed out the dissenters. Can’t have a public figure hold anti-ShinRa views.”

“Any advice?”

“Play to their sympathies.”

Before long, it was his turn.

“Cloud. Come on in.”

Cloud got up and followed the lady holding a clipboard into the room. It was small, windowless and sparse — a single podium set up opposite a long table seating the two judges. Cloud made his way to the podium and waited.

“Lovely to meet you, Cloud. What a nice name. Well, I’m not sure what other people have told you, but the most important thing is to be yourself. Just relax and show off your personality.” The lady judge with big, bouncy curls smiled at him, indulgent.

Cloud nodded. The other judge was a tall, middle aged man with cropped blond hair and a moustache that extended beyond his pale cheeks. 

“Tell me about yourself, Cloud.” Without looking up, the man read in a monotonous tone from the sheet of paper in front of him. He twirled the tips of his moustache around his pen.

“My name is Cloud Strife. I’m a delivery driver. I live and work in the Slums, Sector 7. Have been my whole life.”

The lady crooned, her eyes wide with pity. “Oh, your whole life. That must have been hard, you must have gone through so much.” She waited, expecting Cloud to elaborate.

Cloud did so with immense reluctance. He hated aggrandizing his struggles, it felt wrong when he knew from experience nobody had it easy. “The same as everyone else. We all try to make a living,” he answered, perhaps too curtly.

She looked disappointed, but they moved on to the next question.

“Tell me why you should be our next winner?”

“Because I deserve the title?” Cloud asked.

_“_ But _why_ should _you_ deserve the title?” She was persistent, encouraging. The man was already giving deep, breathy sighs that ruffled the whiskers of his moustache, shuffling and reshuffling the papers in his hands.

“Well, I’ve got a unique act. I’m cross-dressing.”

The lady nodded encouragingly.

“…I’m going to put the prize money to good use.”

She pounced on that. “Yes, tell us a bit more. What philanthropic cause will you dedicate your winner’s share to?”

“I’m passionate about social causes. I will use it to support the, ah, Justice League.” He supplied helpfully. “Provision of funding to poor Slum’s folk who are victims of miscarriages of justice, helping to cover legal fees and so forth… actually, we have a case lined up already.”

“Sounds like a comic,” the man muttered. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, the moustache twirling became faster.

“That sounds like a wonderful cause. And, given your passion about social causes, our next question will be right in your comfort zone.”

Cloud maintained a facade of calm.

“So, as you know, ShinRa’s ongoing support of Mako reactors has been a contentious issue. What is your opinion on the expansion of Mako reactors to new locales and the ShinRa company?”

“It’s great. There’s absolutely nothing negative I can say about it. What’s not to love about waking up to smog that keeps out the sun. It’s even getting rid of the weeds, the gardeners have so little work to do now they’re taking up hobbies. And by freeing up that section of the workforce we have more workers for the Mako reactor, whose 24/7 operation means unlimited work for everyone — sure it could kill you, but that’s almost preferable when life insurance sets up families for life, thanks to the generosity of ShinRa corporation. And with more reactors, we have less weeding, more gardeners… more reactors. It’s a, uhm, self-perpetuating cycle. Bravo ShinRa.”

The lady was beaming. Moustache-guy had stopped his twirling and was looking at Cloud with an open mouth, eyes bulging.

“Thank you! Brilliant answer, I can see you’ve put a great deal of thought into it.” She nodded, flourished her pen and scribbled something on her paper. “That is all. I hope to see you later Cloud, we look forward to your cross-dressing act. All the best.”

The man simply leaned back into his chair and sneered, his small beady eyes a presence at Cloud’s back as he moved quickly outside.

Reagan waited for him with a towel. Cloud took it, wiped his face. It had been hot in that room, made worse by the grilling on the podium. He felt like a witness in a court-case, pressured by the two archetypal police to get a confession out of him. He had little patience for their attempts at lulling him into a false sense of security at the beginning by imploring him to ‘be yourself’. He was going to be in a _dress_ , dammit, he wasn’t planning to hide anymore. When he inhabited that careful persona of the rugged, quiet delivery driver, no one bothered him or inquired too closely into his affairs, assuming he was a simple man of the Slums doing respectable, practical work. Maybe he had skeletons in his past, but didn’t everyone? It was poor form to pry.

But if he was in a _dress_ then people will have questions. They’d become curious about Cloud’s true character, gaps that could not be explained by the simple, uncomplicated person of a delivery driver. They’d ask, and Cloud would have to answer. But it didn’t matter what banal answer he’d come up with, the dress would be there like an ugly stain proclaiming that there was something wholly remarkable about this man. And then if the spotlight refuses to budge despite his best efforts, he was fed up with trying. He’d tell them exactly what he thought, and the more unconventional it was, the more the people would be satisfied. They’d think: ah— yes, this was the kind of remarkable, if misguided opinion held by a man wearing a dress.

“How was it?” Reagan asked. The red hat kept flopping over his temples, and Reagan had to pause and use one hand to push it back up.

“It was alright,” Cloud said, shrugging. “I hope I make it.”

* * *

Cloud swallowed, one tongue running shyly over pink lips plump and shiny with gloss. He blinked and had to abort halfway to stare at how long his eyelashes were. They brushed his cheek when he looked down. He wore a voluminous pink skirt with multiple tulle layers that fell in mounds of fabric, gathering around his ankles. He felt, frankly, ridiculous. There were two melons stuffed up his bodice, secured in place by several layers of bandages, the whole contraption covered with a skin-coloured singlet. And over that went the bodice of the dress, a fishnet shirt embroidered with sequins and silver jewels.

Madam Pomfrey, a tall lady with inky black hair and vivid red lipstick fluttered her eyelashes. She was Reagan’s friend, the one who did his makeup. “You look like a _triangle_ , dear. Your body parts are sticking out everywhere. Try being more relaxed, letting everything soften. Yes, like that, but not so stiff either. And smile, for heaven’s sake.”

Reagan was on his knees a few meters away, camera in hand, his red hat jiggling in excitement. He drew out the vowels when speaking to Cloud, as if speaking to a frightened hare. “Now, haaaawld it.” The camera gave two satisfactory flashes.

“Now there is only one more set piece before we can complete the illusion, my pet,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Can you tell me what it is?”

“No clue.”

Ma’m Pomfrey strolled across the room, hand poised on her hip. “The walk. The stalk of a woman seeking her prey. You men walk like elephants.”

Cloud was sure there were certain anatomical requirements for that hip-swaying walk he did not possess.

“Nonsense!” Ma’m Pomfrey barked when he aired those misgivings. “You must _forget_ yourself. You are your walk. Your mind must be an extension of your shoulders, your shoulders the scaffold poised above your hips, your hips the fulcrum from which your legs swing. You see how everything is connected.”

It made little sense to Cloud, but he supposed not being self-conscious was a good place to start. So, Cloud learned to walk.

At last the stage was ready. As his fellow contestants applied the final touches to their makeup, stage assistants dressed in black clothing appeared, slipping through the crowds and making final adjustments. There was nervous conversation and chatter backstage that Cloud tuned out, drawing upon old techniques used to sooth the nerves. It brought back unpleasant memories from his military days. He remembered the shout of his platoon leader ordering the charge, feeling the reassuring leap of his pulse as his vision narrowed through the thin slit of the visor. Ahead of him the still-smoking guns of the enemy pointed at him and the friends he could not see. He knew it would be death on either end – death if he failed to bayonet the enemy before they reloaded. Death if he turned and impaled himself on the waiting lances of the officers standing like a wall behind them. Suddenly, a light flashed like a grenade and Cloud clutched at empty air where his sword would have been. Just a camera, Cloud thought, willing his heartbeat to slow.

Someone nudged his shoulder. “Grab them by the balls,” Reagan encouraged.

Cloud rose and almost tripped over his heels. Half-careening, he made his way onto the stage. One step, two. They were signalling him: _too slow._ The floor felt a thousand meters away. _So, that’s who you are, Cloud?_ A sneer, morally uptight eyes that looked at him down imperious noses, pity turning into contempt turning into violence. Outside the public waited, their cameras poised. He dragged his feet, eyes firmly on the ground.

Off the side of the stage, there was the sound of a commotion… Madam Pomfrey? The lady was restrained by two stagehands but did her best to catch his attention. She looked furious, her finger jabbing at Cloud as if she could stab some sense into him. “Pull yourself together! Just act! It’s a stage, for gods sake, it’s thirty seconds to the front and back! _Let go of me._ ”

She was right. A few more steps, and suddenly the stage opened up before him.

He had tried so hard, he thought. To be authentic, to show himself truly to the world. When he was a teenager he’d had his ears pierced to show those who knew where to look – I’m gay and I’m available. He saw himself dancing freely in the bars of Costa del Sol: comfortable and fluid in his own skin. He was a delivery driver, a soldier, a friend, gay, in the closet, questioning… but he was always Cloud. And why not? These are costumes one puts on, to play the various roles one’s given in life.

He faced the lights, so bright and revealing. He stood in his beautiful dress, wearing his painted face. And there in the darkness were thousands of upturned eyes peering up at him, judging.

Let them judge.

He took one step. Another.

_Smile,_ whispered his memory of Madam Pomfrey. His smile grew from the inside and expanded until he was full and radiant.

When it was all over, he stepped off the walkway with relief. For a moment, Cloud paused and imagined himself as a young boy again, alone and afraid. He waited for the thundering of footsteps, half-expecting a crowd of jeering boys or the equivalent of citizens holding pitchforks to drag him away. But of course, there was only the girl behind him ushering him back into the room.

They told him the outcome of the first round would not be released until the end of the pageant, together with the final results. Cloud was barely listening. Still with his dress on, he walked out of the room and into the open air.

People hurried by, eyes cast down, busy in their own thoughts.

He looked around, expectant.

No one gave him a second glance.

Cloud took a deep breath, before turning back and collapsing against the door. _I’m… free._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I need to get rid of this story otherwise it is taking up too much mindspace and I'd rather be working on something else.   
> This is my first long-form work, it's flawed, but it's a learning experience ^^"


	4. Monte

“You were…” Zack inhaled. “Ok, I’m speechless. Cat got my tongue. But man! I would totally date you if it weren’t for Aeris.”

Cloud laughed. “Ow, ow, chill Zack, you’re messing up my wig.”

Zack gave his hair another hard rub then relented. He smiled lopsidedly at Cloud, affectionate and proud.

“I mean, sorry to say this now, but… I totally didn’t expect you to pull it off! The old Cloud I knew would have turned tail and run as soon as the spotlights came up.”

Aeris scoffed. “As if you wouldn’t do the same, Zack.” She confided, “He gets stage fright.”

Cloud shrugged. “Let’s just say… I learned a few things… about myself and being myself. Wow, who knew pageants could teach life lessons.”

Zack gave Cloud an odd look. “Hmph! Definitely. Look, totally okay if you’re not cool with talking about this, Spike. But this whole thing reminded me of that problem you told me a while back. So, after what happened today… you reckon you’re okay now?”

“I don’t know,” Cloud said slowly. He looked down at his shoes, embarrassed. “I mean, I think… I think I’m ready to try again.” He glanced at Aeris. “Maybe we should talk about this another time.”

Aeris looked innocent. “What? What is it?”

Zack guffawed, and gave Aeris a mighty slap on the shoulder. “We’re all adults here, Spike! It’s fine, you can tell her. Aeris and I have done it already, she knows all the ins and outs of anatomy!”

“Too much information!”

“ _Necessary_ information.”

Cloud sighed. “Fine.” He turned to Aeris and informed her solemnly. “I hope he isn’t an embarrassment in bed as he is in public.” As Zack’s protests died, he cleared his throat, twice. “Oh planet – this is embarrassing. So, let’s start at the beginning… I’m gay.”

“Well that’s a bit of old news. Go on.”

“I’ve had… some trouble. Er, _bedroom problems._ If you get my drift.”

Aeris formed her mouth in an ‘O’.

Cloud mustered his courage and forged on. “Zack thinks – and I agree – it’s because I have some repressed, internally directed, unresolved homophobia.” He looked gloomy. “So I can’t get it up in bed because there’s a holier-than-thou angel chanting sins in my ear whenever I try. And _Zack_ thinks that’s why I haven’t been dating either.”

“And that’s why Zack thought you’d run away from the stage,” Aeris realised. “Not because you’re shy… but because it’s publicly acknowledging that you’re a great crossdresser.”

“Exact—Wait, no!”

Aeris giggled. “Oh, silly, silly Cloud. I don’t know where that thought comes from, but Zack and I – we love you for who you are, whatever you are… you’ll always have been Cloud to us. Old hurts take time to heal. _I_ think you’re making great progress and I’m sure you’ll try again when you feel you’re ready.”

“Well, I hope you’ve learned how to keep down some alcohol because we are celebrating this momentous occasion. The christening of Miss Cloud!” Zack crowed.

They met up with the rest of the crew at the Seventh Heaven. After hearing about Cloud’s debut Tifa nearly dropped a plate. She immediately insisted on an invitation to the next round of the pageant. _Planet_ , his childhood friend was going to see him in a _dress_. He still remembered masculine posturing in an awkward, adolescent way in front of her because she was the most popular girl at school and he thought, logically, if she liked him then he wouldn’t be bullied anymore.

That had ended in an embarrassed Tifa confronting Cloud and revealing how that had the exact opposite effect. But from that moment they struck up a lifelong friendship.

Cloud felt warm and pleasantly buzzed from the few drinks he had. He was content to rest his sore legs and snack on peanuts, while his friends fell into an uproar.

“Cloud! What the hell, we need pictures! Come on, I know you got them somewhere Zack.” Barrett was bear-wrangling Zack who was trying in vain to hide behind a giggling Aeris.

“Stop it, you. Why don’t you consider Cloud’s feelings for a change, huh?” Tifa said, hands on her hips.

Cloud smiled into his glass. “It’s okay, Tifa. As long as they don’t end up plastered all over Midgar, I’m good.”

Tifa blinked and scooted closer, bending down to his level. “Hmm…”

“What?”

“You seem a little different…”

At that moment, Aeris stomped on Zack’s foot, causing him to release Barrett with a yelp like a winded puppy.

“Come on guys, stop fighting and let’s gather,” she said, clapping her hands together. They all crowded around a center table and Tifa distributed a round of shots.

“To – Miss Cloud!” Aeris raised her glass.

“To – Miss Cloud!” roared the rest of them and they downed their shots in one gulp.

“Oh, that burns.” Aeris shuddered.

“You just gotta get used to it.” Tifa winked. “Another round?”

All his friends – except for Zack – were gloriously wasted at the end of the night. Cloud helped Zack move Aeris to a more comfortable position on the sofa, where her head lolled to one side and rested on Zack’s shoulder. Zack wouldn’t be moving anywhere soon, so Cloud settled himself beside them, watching Barrett blow bubbles from his nose.

“I think this is the one part of being SOLDIER that sucks.” Zack looked wistfully at their friends.

“Plus the ridiculous amount of meds we need. At least we don’t get hangovers.”

Zack groaned. “Oh man—the horror. No pain, no gain I guess. I still get into arguments with the pharmacist from Sector 5 when I order, like, five boxes of pain meds whenever I come back from missions. He gives me this look as if I’m gonna kill myself and I have to show him my old SOLDIER I.D to make him hand over the goods. I think he’s convinced that we all need to see a psychologist.”

“Huh, he might be onto something. I’m still not sure whether we were all crazy before the program, though.”

Zack nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah, definitely. Question of the century, no, the millennium. Crazy bastards,” he said fondly. “Meanwhile, t _his_ crazy bastard is my favourite.” Cloud ducked away, grinning, as Zack tried to ruffle his hair again.

Zack’s face turned serious. “Hey, Spike, you wanna go somewhere? Just you and me.”

“Why? Planning to commit a murder?”

“Hell yeah if you keep up that attitude. I just wanna help you.” Zack said, earnestly. “There’s a guy I know in the red light district… now don’t ask how I know him… it’s a long story. He’s very, very good. Trained under Madam M herself.”

“Hold up Zack, are you trying to get me in bed with someone? Because I’m not interested.”

“Look,” Zack groused. “Come on, you haven’t dated in _years._ And I know it’s because of this problem you’re having! We’ve had conversations about this and it shouldn’t be a problem anymore, you even admitted it today yourself. Confidence, Spike, that’s what we’re lacking right now.” He hit his fist on his palm in emphasis. “And what better way to make sure than have the best hands in Midgar work on ya.”

Cloud chewed his lip. “Alright, if that’s what you really think… I’ll give it ago. But I feel… I feel like this isn’t the whole picture.” He stared at his boots, lost.

Zack hugged him. “Chin up. I hate to see you like this.” He looked Cloud dead in the eye. “Don’t you _ever_ compromise your happiness, Spike. And if your future boyfriend hurts you, they’ve got my fists to answer to.” He flashed him a blinding, hero’s smile.

* * *

Cloud was grateful he had Zack to hide behind, using him as a shield as they made their way through the packed streets of the red-light district. The place was a jungle of neon lights that crowded out the sky, tinting the people milling about in shades of bright pinks, greens and blues. Intermittently they heard sounds of uproarious laughter punctuated by the ‘chink’ of glasses filtering out through the open doors into the streets.

The crowd of bars suddenly parted to reveal an oriental structure decked in red lanterns. It was a beautiful, three storey building of carved wood, with a triangular terracota roof that sloped gently into four curved points in each corner. Each was adorned with a terracotta dragon with a paper lantern hanging between the jaws. The windows on the front of the property were large and well lit - through the white gauze curtains shadows moved, came together, separated in an astonishing lack of privacy. Zack lead the way up a short, wide flight of stairs with carved wooden handrails.

Through the narrow doorway, the entry foyer was expansive, an atrium revealing a flight of stairs that curved up to the third floor. From the ceiling dangled exquisite paper artwork in the shape of flowers, birds, animals. Some of them were hollowed out into lanterns and spread the room with soft golden light. There were girls lounging on cushions, girls gossiping, stretching, an occasional group with a dazed but happy patron in their midst.

“Um, Zack,” Cloud ventured. “Are you sure you’ve got the right place? These are…” He gestured helplessly at the girls.

Zack was enjoying drinking in the sights, but he pulled himself together, a stiffness to his posture that suggested he was making a valiant effort at not betraying his girlfriend. “Don’t worry, Spike. Look, here’s Madam M.”

Indeed, gliding down the staircase in a tight-fitting silk kimono that clung to every curve of her body, one pale shoulder revealed, tantalizingly hinting at the looseness of her dress, came Madam M. She was middle-aged, but her face full of makeup disguised every blemish and wrinkle. She looked like a figure from a dream.

“My, my, what have we have here? Old friends. It’s been too long - I’ve missed you, gentlemen. Ladies, prepare these two a room.” The two girls shading her with a leaf-shaped parasol bowed and melted away.

Cloud nudged Zack in the ribs, hard. “She knows you?”

“Gah! Don’t tell Aeris, otherwise she’s gonna kill me. There’s a good reason for this, I swear, and you’re gonna meet him.”

Cloud rolled his eyes.

Madam M laughed at them, little puffs of air behind a hand covering her mouth. “In here, gentlemen.” She lead them down an adjoining corridor underneath the bannister of the main staircase. It was sparsely, but tastefully decorated with floor-length scrolls depicting watercolour reproductions of japanese woodprints. Cloud couldn’t help but noticing the subject matter. Here, a woman in ecstasy, half hidden by the black folds of her lover’s kimono. A woman with tentacles wrapped around her torso and squeezing her breasts. Others, of increasing inventiveness and imagination.

They came at last to another doorway leading to a room furnished with heavy, dark red curtains over the windows. There was a sitting room directly in front of them, a low table with piles of embroidered cushions in gold thread scattered about the floor. Behind it, stood a large four poster bed with matching sheets. Madam M gestured for them both to take a seat before sinking into a cushion herself, legs tucked neatly underneath her. She flicked her arms and rested her hands artfully in her lap.

“So, what will it be today?” Madam M asked, looking at Zack with her eyebrow raised. “The usual?”

Zack coughed. “The Amarone, please. For my friend here.”

Cloud found himself the target of Madam M’s assessing stare.

“Hm. And yourself?”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Madam M nodded, she seemed satisfied with his answer. “Pardon me for not being so conversational today, gentlemen. It’s been a busy night and I have other guests to attend to. The course will be served, oh, shortly, but you know how it is with… special orders. They can be delayed due to various reasons outside our control.” She smirked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Soon after that, there came a knocking on the door and two girls entered the room with a tray balanced between them. They knelt down besides Zack and Cloud, then carefully placed the items on the tray to their table. There were two china cups trimmed with gold, a tall beaker with a slender spout and carved ivory handles. Zack picked up the beaker, cracked open the lid and poured a stream of steaming, red liquid into a cup. He handed it to Cloud.

“Thanks,” Cloud accepted and took a small sip. It was wonderfully warm and seemed to spread to all his fingers and toes, filling him with an odd tingling sensation. They chatted amicably while they waited, each quite relaxed and comfortable. Zack was especially talkative, but Cloud found himself growing sleepier and sleepier. He nodded along, managed a few grunts of agreement. He caught himself with his chin to his chest and eyes shut, and blinked them open, confused but alert again. It had been a long day, no doubt about it, but he was exhausted. He was about to tell Zack that he might lie down for a few minutes, and maybe he should tell Madam M that the guest they were waiting for is a no show, but his tongue felt like lead.

He looked at the finished cup in his hand, at Zack’s own, untouched glass in dull horror. Then, darkness reared its head and swallowed him. The last thing he saw was Zack’s wan, apologetic smile.

* * *

“Zack, _what the hell_ —” Cloud stopped, eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

He was on the large bed in the room. The lights had been dimmed, the whole room seemed to glow with a soft, rosy hue. Someone had lit a stick of incense. It was cloyingly sweet with an undercurrent of woody scent like sandalwood. On the opposite side of the bed, sitting with legs crossed neatly in an armchair was a man with tousled red hair and black eyes.

Upon noticing Cloud awakening, the man uncrossed his legs and stood in one seamless movement. He crossed the room in a deft efficient steps and paused beside Cloud’s bed and bent down into Cloud’s personal space, so close that Cloud could smell the faint whiff of mint on his breath.

“Monte Martinez. At your service.” Before Cloud could react, the man had slipped under the sheets next to him and laid a hand on Cloud’s stomach. “And your name? Or, if you prefer, we can do it anonymously. The unknown can be excit—” He was cut off by Cloud’s fist planting in the solar plexus.

Monte let out a silent puff of air and immediately backed away. Cloud still had his fists extended, surprised by the man’s composure, but retreated until he was pressed flat on the back of the bed, snarling.

“Ok, ok, I’m not going to touch you. Calm down, please, we’ll do it your way.” He had both hands raised, palms open, placating. “ _Ow_ , that hurt.”

Cloud was already up and out of the bed, pacing around the room. He tried the door - locked. The windows too. He growled, fists clenching and paced faster.

“Hey.” Montez jingled the ring of keys in his hand. “I have ‘em.”

“Give me those.”

Montez pondered this for a while. “No,” he decided, sat down on the couch opposite the bed again and recrossed his legs. “You owe me an explanation and an apology. I have had spirited guests before who were very much into these activities, which I assure you I don’t share those proclivities, but they usually prefer to stay in bed and don’t prowl around like a jailed wildcat. So, why would you hire a courtesan if you weren’t looking for a good fuck?”

Cloud stared at him, then at his feet. He stalked back to the bed and sat down, head in his hands. “No, no you’re right, that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

Montez started stripping off his clothes. “Alright, glad we’ve got that cleared up then.”

He was undoing his belt when Cloud spoke, muffled by his hands. “I got slipped a sleeping drug by my friend. I _trusted_ him.”

A look of pity came over Montez’s face. “The Amarone? It’s a good wine, they drink it in the mountains to keep warm over a cold winter. But before you murder your friend, let me tell you that the sleeping drug was my idea. All my patrons must have it. I’m a private person and don’t like people knowing my comings and goings.” He grinned wolfishly. “Plus, it is extraordinarily effective in helping to set the scene.”

“…right.”

The blond still looked unhappy. Montez sighed. “Here, why don’t we start slowly. It’s natural to prefer some intimacy first. Build up some trust.”

Cloud made room on his left side, tensed as he felt the dip in the bed as Montez settled himself in with a long, relaxed sigh. “One thing Madam M does well,” he commented, bouncing on the bed a few times. “Not even a creak! The furniture’s top notch. A pity she’s in this business, these beds will give the you the best night’s sleep in town, I tell ya.”

Montez was handsome in a rogue-ish way, muscles chistled and well proportioned. But the thought of getting any closer, of strange hands anywhere near Cloud’s body made him ill.

“Look—” Montez made a noise of frustration. “Here, you haven’t even introduced yourself yet.” He stuck out a hand, looked at Cloud expectantly. After a beat, Cloud shook it.

“…Cloud.” He made to extract his hand. Montez’s grip was firm, a surprising strength in his wiry grip. His eyes never left Cloud’s, intent, black pupils staring into Cloud’s own.

Slowly, Montez’s thumb massaged circles on the back of Cloud’s hand. “You’ve got strong hands. Who’d have thought, with such a pretty face. Just relax.”

Montez was experienced. Cloud could tell by how he varied his pressure, gentle when Cloud winced, deep and hard when Cloud almost moaned. But Cloud was wary of every move he made, any sign of relaxation vanishing when Montez indicated he wanted to move up his arm and explore other parts of Cloud’s body.

“Why are you afraid?” Montez rubbed small circles on Cloud’s palm. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Cloud was silent, focusing on breathing quietly.

“Do you feel ashamed?” Montez breathed. “I see. Pleasure isn’t a simple thing for you, is it? You feel like it tells you something about yourself, something you try so hard to deny.”

It hit too close. “No!” Cloud snatched his hand away.

Montez laughed. “I see! But there is no one here judging you Cloud. There is only you and I, and I have seen too much to care.”

“I’ve tried so hard to hide my sexuality my entire life. It’s easier to just… convince yourself it’s not real.”

“But, you came here. And you ask for me.” Montez remarked.

“I’m trying to change.” Yes, he’d even entered a cross-dressing pageant. It was just for the gil, he’d told himself, but he was no longer sure.

“You’re wrong. Look —” Montez was leaning closer, a sly smile on his face, he stroked one hot hand down Cloud’s torso, leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh. “Your body responds to me. Unlike you, it cannot lie.”

Montez was right. Desire was breaking through the barrier he’d so carefully constructed. His body was extra sensitive due to so many years of deprivation. He had already crossed the first line, Cloud realised, head falling back. The illusion he’d crafted was being shattered. He recalled the feeling of freedom, the unfettered weightlessness he’d felt when not a single person accused him after stepping out of the pageant. He held on to that feeling like a lifeline.

Inexorably, Cloud felt his muscles loosen. He let his eyes flutter close and felt Montez move gently up to his forearm, murmuring encouragement. He had good hands, a strong firm grip, but surprising gentleness, almost like… Cloud buried his face in the pillow, but let himself succumb to the courtesan’s ministrations.

This went on until Cloud felt loose and boneless, floppy as a rag. He almost forgot Montez’s presence until the man let out a deep, raspy chuckle. “Relaxed now, doll?” He was pressing the knots out of Cloud’s lower back, Cloud bit back a groan.

The hands stilled. “I can stop here. Tell me when you want me to stop, and I will.”

“No, keep going.”

Cloud felt those fingers trail gently down his skin, massaging the skin under the waistband of his pants. “How about this?”

“Yes.”

The fingers retracted, drew his pants down a notch. They returned slightly cooler than before, the icy touch making Cloud shiver. He imagined silver hair, the teasing touch of cold lips pressed to his tailbone. “Yes—”

The fingers descended inch by inch, then millimeters, the barest graze with whispered permission asked and granted at each step, until Cloud was trembling in the bed, fists clenched in the sheets, sweat shining on flushed skin.

When a hand closed around his member and squeezed, Cloud cried out in the pillow, couldn’t help the surge of emotions that overcame him. It seemed to him as if intent jade-green eyes locked on his as Sephiroth’s head bent down and took him in whole. His cock was being stroked, hard and fast. As he climaxed, back arching off the bed, he thought of strong hands clamped around his abdomen, the brush of long silver hair against his cheek, a voice calling out his name in a hushed, gentle tone as if it was something cherished.

He gasped, panted into the pillow. His eyes were wet.

Montez looked stunned. He worked his wrists between his hands, stretching it, still laced with Cloud’s cum. Delicately, he cleaned it with a tissue. “Here,” Montez said, and handed Cloud another. Cloud accepted it and numbly wiped off his stomach.

Montez crossed his legs again, shifted on the bed. “Don’t know who Sephiroth is, but he’s a lucky man if he gets to see a sight like that every night. So, how was it?”

“Nice. It was nice.” A quiet pause. “Thanks.”

Monte pulled on Cloud’s shoulder. “Hey- just ‘nice’?” He chuckled. “You’re ruining my professional integrity.”

Cloud looked so small, so vulnerable huddled over at his side of the bed, sheets held around him tight like a cocoon. Monte felt a guilty twinge in his heart. The mattress squeaked as he hoisted himself out of bed, collecting his clothing scattered around the room. He cleaned himself briefly with a box of sanitary wipes hidden strategically behind a large flowerpot before putting on his clothes.

Softly, so not to disturb his customer, Monte stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. Zack was leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Upon seeing Monte, he started towards him with anxious eyes.

“How is he?”

Monte grinned. “Not a problem. Everything working in tip-top shape.” He made an obscene gesture with his hand.

Zack relaxed.

Monte added. “It took a little while, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not for me to say. Confidentiality agreement?”

“Rascal.”

“At your service.” Monte grinned. “Missed you buddy. Only reason I stayed in SOLDIER long as I did.”

Zack laughed. “Hah! That’s a pack of lies and you know it. You were always a skirt chaser, now you’re just doing it professionally.”

Monte spread his hands, eyes widening. “What can I say, I am a man of refined tastes. Tastes that have mellowed and expanded considerably the past few years. You should visit more often.”

Zack shook his head. “Can’t. I’ve gone domestic.”

“Oh?”

A wistful smile blossomed across Zack’s face. “She’s the most amazing, beautiful, strong woman…”

Monte snorted, and left after extracting a vague promise that he would be in touch. All bets were off when it came to Monte. He loved to travel, to sample the finer things in life, and SOLDIER had seemed the perfect avenue to do it. Of course, when the reality of the wars hit, he had been the first to abdicate, never obedient to authority at the best of times.

Zack returned to his anxious vigil in front of the door. The waiting made him jumpy, he jiggled his right leg absently. For the first time, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. That lingering culpability stopped him from running into Cloud’s room and finding out for himself. Instead, he resumed pacing outside until one of Madam M’s girls found him and insisted on arranging him a room.

In the morning, he found Cloud sipping tea downstairs, freshly scrubbed, wearing a loose bathrobe. During the day, Madam M’s house presented the front of a tea-house served by scantily clad girls. Zack settled himself on the cushion opposite Cloud, bouncing on his heels.

“Good morning,” Cloud greeted. “Tea?”

Cloud sat with his back straight as a board, legs tucked neatly underneath him, the picture of dignity. Zack wilted.

“Spike, you okay? I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, I shouldn’t have--” He was shut up by a mug of tea forceably shoved in his hands.

“Stop it, Zack. Look, it was nice. It felt good, relaxing. What was he called – Monte? He was great. Very gentle.” Cloud looked tired but refreshed. “He helped me understand some things. Here – finish your tea. I’ll cover the payment and call a cab to get you home as well. You look like death warmed over.”


	5. Costa del Sol, 3 years ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As tagged, cw for internalised/referenced homophobia.

Costa del Sol, 3 years ago.

Sephiroth sat in the window seat in the café, coffee in hand, watching the waves roll up to the beach, swimmers in their latex caps bobbing like ducks. He had his hair braided and tucked underneath a black cap, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark shades. Around him the soft sounds of jazz music percolates, the nutty smell of coffee, low conversation, the rustle of newspapers on patron’s knees.

Sephiroth glanced out the window, intense green eyes staring wistfully over the waves, then moved his gaze back to the page at hand, eyes roaming over the words. He took occasional sips of his coffee, leg tapping absently on the ground.

The old restlessness never truly left him, part of him feels this is a façade, a vision that will dissipate as surely as morning mist. He now knew this calm as a deception shattered too easily by a missile, or a mine exploding underfoot. He took another sip of his coffee, fingers trembling, causing the ceramic to rattle. The bitterness was cleansing and he pulled his mind back to the novel, a peaceful yarn describing an indolent life living in the countryside.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Sephiroth glanced up, surprised. Of course, the café was full of holiday goers at this time of the morning. He noticed with some chagrin the only free seat was next to him. There was a man in front of him with wild blond hair and shy blue eyes, one hand balancing a paper cup awkwardly while the other fidgeted at the zipper of his jacket.

“No… help yourself.”

Sephiroth inched away a little, nodded at the blond’s quiet ‘thank you’ and absorbed himself back into his book.

A quiet sigh disturbed Sephiroth from his reverie. Curious, he lifted his eyes up from the page and was arrested by the sight of that man again. He couldn’t help but approve of the slender curve of his jaw, the strong jut of the chin, even the slight frown on the man’s mouth that hinted at stubbornness. His eyes were bright, an intense pure blue like the ocean under a midday sun. The man sighed again, tilted his head back and downed the whole coffee in a single determined swallow.

It seemed to have gone down the wrong route, because he promptly flushed a bright shade of pink and started spluttering. Sephiroth put down his book, plucked a tissue from the box on his other side and pressed it into the man’s hand. Blue eyes watering from the cough met his own.

“Thanks,” the man said, reddening. He wiped his mouth with the tissue.

“You seem to have a lot on your mind,” Sephiroth commented. He picked up his book again, ready to bury himself in it if the conversation faltered.

The stranger huffed out a laugh. “Yeah… you could say that.” Sephiroth was ready to quietly retreat from the conversation, when the man abruptly asked, “Say, just wondering. Purely hypothetical. But what would you do if you have someone you like, but aren’t sure if they like you back? And might think you’re d-disgusting for liking them?”

Sephiroth blinked. “That… well, I can’t say I’ve had the experience.”

“Oh…hm, lucky you.”

“No. I mean, not in that sense… It’s a foreign emotion to me. Of course, I’ve seen it in the people around me, close friends and such. I’ve seen it described in poetry, but I couldn’t tell you what I would do in that situation because I can’t imagine it happening – to me.” Sephiroth paused for a moment, ruminating. “But, if they treat you poorly then they are, in a sense, an enemy to you correct? Or an enemy of your feelings. If I may quote Sun Tzu, ‘to know the enemy and yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat’. Which I think is apparent that to know your own feelings without fully understanding the feelings of the other you will suffer the more for it. So, I believe the most important thing is to know, no matter how painful the knowing is,” he finished.

Sephiroth was beginning to get a little worried when the stranger was silent for a long time, only giving him a curiously intent stare, head cocked to one side, the small ends of white teeth visible as he chewed on his lower lip. “No… thank you. That helps.” The stranger gave a short, embarrassed laugh, a sound that wrapped warm, comforting tendrils around Sephiroth’s heart.

“What’s your name?” Sephiroth found himself asking.

The man gave him that shy smile again. “Cloud. You read military theory?”

“A small diversion of mine, it helps me sleep.” Sephiroth admitted. “Please, call me Sephiroth.”

“How long are you staying for, Sephiroth?”

Sephiroth hesitated. “Well… that’s indefinite, at this point in time. I’d had some difficulties at work and the management thought It prudent to exile me while they patch things over.”

“Sounds harsh, who do you work for?”

“ShinRa,” he replied, amused. “You?”

He shrugged, a jerk of his shoulders. “I do odd jobs, delivery… did a brief stint in the army way back. I’m just here for a holiday, though. Costa del Sol is famous for the beaches, the resorts and the parties. I’ve only got a couple of weeks but I’m planning to hit up all the events, make the most of it, you know?” He fiddled with something in his ear, a stud made of a semi-precious stone. It was blue, the same shade of his eyes.

“I confess I wasn’t given much notice before being shoved on a plane here. I might need a guide.”

“Considerate of them,” Cloud quipped, a quick flash of a smile, eyes sparkling. “I could show you around? I’ve been here three days already but I’ve barely done much myself. We can go to the beach, have lunch at the cafes, I’ve heard their drinks are one of a kind too.”

“That… it’d be a pleasure.” Yes, it’d be good to have some company. It was hard to lose himself in old regrets when talking to Cloud. The blond man had a quiet intensity and friendliness that demanded his full attention. 

They spent a long, amicable morning talking about superficial things. Sephiroth listened in sympathy as Cloud grumbled about the lack of freedom in his work and the persistent fear that his ambitions were a child’s dream. No specifics were mentioned, but Sephiroth paralleled this with a carefully edited version of his own restlessness, hinted at a stressful high stakes job where everyday routines took on the nature of a bomb ticking over. When Cloud soon warmed to him and started telling him earnestly about his mother, who had worked in a hospital emergency department, Sephiroth thought guiltily he may have given the man the wrong impression.

They moved on to lighter affairs and Sephiroth found out that Cloud was tinkering with a bike he called ‘Fenrir’, named after the Norse god. He learned that Cloud had a habit of touching things when he was nervous, preferring his hair, the zipper on his jacket, the stud-earring he fiddled with while checking absently around the store. That Cloud’s glance would linger, sometimes, at Sephiroth’s lips before he looked quickly away.

He learned that Cloud liked his coffee with exactly one tablespoon of milk. It was a useful, but gratifying piece of trivia that Sephiroth used to full effect as he would sometimes order Cloud’s coffee in advance. After that first day, they agreed to meet routinely at a café every morning. Cloud was quite serious about experiencing all the entertainments of Costa del Sol, so they decided to visit every café on the strip down the main road in order, then the smaller alleyways if Sephiroth had time. A wide, unselfconscious smile would grace Cloud’s face when he saw Sephiroth waiting for him with two takeaway cups. Sephiroth could not help but return it.

Other days, when Cloud showed up late with deep black circles underneath his eyes and blond hair shaggier than usual, they’d sit quietly in the café. Cloud would be ruminative and Sephiroth would have his nose buried in a book. After a while, one of them would break the silence. A withering comment about Sephiroth’s latest choice of literary escapism (‘another one about moaning tea-sipping English aristocrats?’) or Cloud’s frightful bed hair. They’d push each other that little bit more, quibbling like old women over the last sack of discounted turnips, before one would dissolve into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all and they became firm friends again.

Friends. Sephiroth tried on the word, thought about how he and Cloud fit it. He tried to dredge up some examples from his own life. Angeal and Genesis, long departed now. There had always been an undercurrent of teasing sarcasm from them both, but they were friends from necessity, the solidarity of three mutants in an ordinary world. Catching up with Zack meant months between phone calls that’d come at the most unexpected times, where he’d listen in shock as Zack described in vivid detail his life that seemed to move at the pace of a bullet train in comparison to Sephiroth’s own. He never quite knew how to respond after Zack’s pointed inquiries into his own life… it was too personal, and he could feel the disappointment from the other end of the phone as they said goodbye for another three months.

In those short weeks at Costa del Sol, Cloud was a solid, reliable presence by Sephiroth’s side. He was a little reticent, a little quiet – and that reminded Sephiroth of himself. But underneath a cautious exterior, he was kind, and was never afraid to speak when it mattered. The thrill that spread up his spine like electricity whenever their legs bumped, or their fingers touched – was that friendship? The way Sephiroth found himself leaning closer to better examine a stray crumb clinging to the corner of Cloud’s lip, how endearing he found the man’s blush as Cloud licked it away in embarrassment? The way his heartbeat sped up and his palms grew damp in Cloud’s presence, his body telling his mind a confusion of things that Cloud was danger, fight or flight… want.

Was it something more?

* * *

Dusk was falling. Sephiroth was strolling along the boardwalk along the shore, hands clasped, eyes wandering absently over to the ocean. Costa del Sol was proud that it was a peninsula extending into the ocean, boasting that any point on the island had an ocean view. Despite the lateness, there were still crowds of people, families walking dogs, even a group of young tourists in red strappy bikinis hurrying back to their cruise ship.

The lights were coming on, spots of golden light washing over the pavement. Not enough to reach the ocean, it remained a dark seething beast lapping at the base of the boardwalk. It had been an unseasonably warm day crowded with people. He’d met up with Cloud in the morning, ordered an iced latte for them both (Cloud’s with exactly one tablespoon of milk - he wasn’t sure it was still a latte at that point). And then by mutual agreement, they had strolled down into the nearest souvenir shop to vest themselves with new, weather-appropriate garments.

Sephiroth had emerged with a large, floppy straw hat, a pale blue shirt with a palm-tree print on it, and yellow flip-flops. He kept his hair tied up and the black sunglasses positioned securely over his eyes, looking the very picture of a tropical island tourist. Cloud had put on a more on-trend red baseball cap open at the top so that his messy blond hair stuck loose. He had a simple black t-shirt and teal blue shorts with tiny printed watermelon on them, exposing his pale legs. Somewhere in those crowded shelves he’d managed to find sturdy black crocs and guffawed at Sephiroth when they compared outfits.

“Oh my god, you look—” Cloud couldn’t finish his sentence, overcome with gasping laughter. “You look like someone’s embarrassing great uncle, the one who gives out the knitted sweaters at Christmas that no-one ever wears.”

“ _You_ look like the adolescent I give my sweaters to,” Sephiroth said with mild affront.

At last dressed the part of island resort tourists, they had walked back out underneath the glaring sun and across the road to the ice-cream shop. It was a quaint building with white walls and square, blue windows divided into four panels by a cross. The cheery red door stood ajar, from which a line snaked out of it. Sephiroth and Cloud joined the end. It was a busy store, so they didn’t wait for long before they had their ice-creams in hand. Cloud had the nougat and toffee, while Sephiroth chose the pistachio praline.

They ate their icecream, carefully catching the fast melting droplets on the white handkerchief that had been provided and took a long, winding path out to the head of the peninsula. The sun shimmered on pristine blue waves and reflected off the white pebblestone paths, making Cloud squint. Sephiroth had sunglasses, which he’d worn with smug satisfaction the whole afternoon. As the sun had waned, he’d taken them off. Now, at dusk, it was calm and quiet after the holidaying crowds dispersed. It was just him, the rustle of wind through the boughs and the steady murmur of the ocean.

He’d walked quite some way and wasn’t sure where he was. Intending to head back to the hotel, he turned off into an alleyway that he thought resembled the direction he wished to go. The streets of most new towns were arranged in a rectangular latticework, so it was easy to navigate from a few landmarks.

To his surprise, it was a street he and Cloud had not explored yet. Although night was fast encroaching, it was a hub of activity. Light shone through the windows and the heavy throbbing beat of dance music could be felt underfoot. Curious, Sephiroth approached the brightest and loudest of the venues. He heard a muffled roar of laughter coming from within before conversation resumed at a more modest volume.

It was one those strange twists of fate, that, when Sephiroth glanced up, in a distracted assessing way one does when they had satisfied themselves that they had seen all they needed and was ready to go elsewhere, he saw a familiar head of shaggy blond hair. Sephiroth could not look away, stunned, a strange unpleasant feeling worming in his gut. The silhouette that was unmistakeably Cloud stood there with a taller silhouette behind him. They were swaying to a silent rhythm, increasing Sephiroth’s sense of unease.

Mind made up, he abandoned his plans for a quiet evening and strode swiftly towards the entrance. He pushed open the heavy glass doors and was awash with a sea of neon lights, recycled air and loud chatter. All eyes in the venue turned to acknowledge his entry, some lingering too long despite (or in spite of) his relaxed clothing. He gave them a curt military nod he ordinarily used to dismiss his troops, and after a pause, conversations resumed in their same rambunctious tone.

“Excuse me,” he said, as he pushed his way through the crowd, dodging stray elbows and waiters balancing plates of beers above their heads.

The stairs were backlit with strips of pink neon light. Sephiroth made his way up, thankful for the relative calm in the stairwell. The stairway made an 180 degree turn pass a bathroom door from which Sephiroth heard some curious muffled groaning. At last, he was up at the second landing, his footsteps slowed.

Why was he here? He asked, upset at himself for giving into an irrational impulse. He hadn’t felt good, and back then, on the street, it seemed the only way to fix the problem was to get closer to Cloud. But now that he was there, it seemed ignoble of him to just walk up to Cloud and demand to know what he was doing in this place. He was really just concerned, Sephiroth told himself. He knew Cloud, and Cloud didn’t let people get so close. Surely, Cloud had been uncomfortable with that person dancing so closely behind him.

Sephiroth found himself a stool at the bar and let his eyes discretely scope out the room.

“What drink will you be having today, handsome?”

The bartender, a tall man with sandy-brown hair wearing a black apron sideled up to him and winked. Sephiroth glanced up at the board and picked the first thing he saw.

“The Longhicky Cocktail.”

“Good choice,” said the bartender, in a tone that suggested Sephiroth had made more than one good choice, with the other being something risque.

Sephiroth searched the room again, then, swiveling his head around so fast it was a miracle nothing cracked, he studied his cocktail like it was a particularly insightful tidbit of military theory.

Cloud and another man, who Sephiroth took an immediate and personal dislike to, sat down at the bar a seat away from Sephiroth’s position.

Cloud was saying, “…I want to try something different. Hm. Yeah. It’s frustrating.”

Indistinct sounds. Sephiroth strained to hear, then Cloud’s voice came floating back up through the music.

“Thanks. Drag? You were serious when you said ‘everything under the sun’, huh. Yeah, I’ll see you.. Oh, no, you can go on ahead. I’m waiting for a friend.”

A friend? Sephiroth cast a furtive look around. He froze when a hand tapped his shoulder. About to turn on his frostiest glare, his eyes softened when he realised it was Cloud, looking at him with serious blue eyes. He was wearing a tight black turtleneck singlet and matching black leather pants with studs on the belt.

“Sephiroth? What are you doing here? You stick out like a sore thumb.”

Sephiroth crossed his legs, calm and dignified. “I saw you from outside. I was curious, so I came in. It’s an…” he gestured encompassingly at the room, the floor-shaking pop music and the couples grinding on the dance floor. “… interesting place,” he finished.

“A drink for you, pretty boy?”

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

Cover blown, Sephiroth took the time to give Cloud an anxious appraisal. He looked… good. There was the beginnings of a flush on his cheeks from the dancing, the black clothing emphasized his wiry body and striking blue eyes. When he moved his head, the light reflected off the sapphire stud in his ear.

“Who was that?” Sephiroth asked. “That man with you. A friend?”

Cloud’s fingers pulled absently at the collar of his sweater. “I don’t know him that well. He’s someone I met a few days ago. He’s… helping me with a few things. He’s not really a friend, not like you and I, Seph.”

Cloud looked miserable. Sephiroth’s fingers tightened around the stem of his cocktail glass.

“Talk to me, Cloud.”

Cloud let out a long, shuddering sigh. He raised his head and to Sephiroth’s shock, there were tears standing in his eyes. “Planet,” he whispered. “Why now? I can’t — I don’t understand why you’re here Seph.”

“Cloud,” Sephiroth said gently. He gave into impulse and reached across the short distance and clasped Cloud’s hand in his own. At the contact, the hand spasmed, then relaxed. “I’m listening.”

Cloud slowly let his fingers entwine with Sephiroth’s own. He gazed unseeingly over the dance floor. Couples rocked together in the music, they were almost all men. “I didn’t come to Costa del Sol just for a holiday,” Cloud began. “Costa del Sol is not just a resort town, it is also a party town, and it’s famous for it’s queer community. I guess people want to get away from their homes and lives in more ways than one, huh? Here, no one knows you. You can be free.”

Sephiroth squeezed Cloud’s hand.

“I like guys Seph. It’s that simple. I wish that’s where it ends, but society has a way of making things complicated. I grew up in a small-town, Nibelhim, you’ve probably never heard of it, it’s just a dot on the map in the middle of nowhere. School was a living hell for me, I had to hide who I was, I was paranoid about being found out… it’s so hard when all the other kids your age are going through puberty-- they understand each other y’know. I was alone. It’s so hard in a small town. You can’t talk to the doctor because he’s the guy that comes over for tea on Sundays. You can’t talk to your mum because she gossips with the parent’s group after school. I was alone, with all these new feelings in me that everyone told me was wrong and I didn’t know what to do.” Cloud stared at where their hands joined. “I heard about Costa del Sol by an old friend who was a lot braver than I was. He came out. Everyone in the school ripped him to shreds, they drove him out of the town. He used to say he was going to go to Costa del Sol because he heard that nobody cares whether you like chicks or dicks there. And, well, I guess I took that to heart.

“Sometimes I’m not even sure I’m gay, I’m so afraid of sex, even with other guys. Um, that guy from before… he’s helping it out. Showing me a few things.” Fiercely, he said, “I’m going to figure it all out, then I won’t have to hide anymore.”

There was a warm and tender feeling in Sephiroth’s heart that he wanted to settle over Cloud like a blanket, hold him close, fierce and protective. Instead, he said simply, “I accept you, Cloud.” Just those words made Cloud’s tension unravel and he sagged, bracing his elbows on the counter.

Cloud gave him a relieved, grateful smile. “I’m glad I met you, Seph,” his voice soft and sincere.

Watching that look Cloud gave him, one of such open, uncontaminated trust made the warmth in Sephiroth’s heart feel overwhelming. _Me too,_ he wanted to say, but the inadequacy of those words frustrated him into silence. Instead, he held Cloud’s hand, careful of not getting too close because he sensed that Cloud had bared that small, secret hidden part of his soul to him and that was a treasure he entrusted to Sephiroth to keep.

Do I deserve this? he asked himself, despairing. What cold comfort it must be, to be consoled by a murderer.

* * *

After Cloud’s confession, he seemed more relaxed in Sephiroth’s presence. Sephiroth had not noticed it before, but it seemed like Cloud smiled more readily, his careful, deliberate caution around other people he no longer employed with Sephiroth, and when they sat too close to each other Cloud was not in so much haste to move away. It wasn’t all good of course, Sephiroth had his own reactions to contend with, his bounding heart, the feeling of immediacy he’d only had in battle he now experienced in Cloud’s presence.

They walked along the beach, the point where the waves met the sand, sinking their toes in the cool, wet, spongy sand. The waves tickled the backs of their feet. It was a sunny day, like all the other days, Costa del Sol a perpetual sauna house.

He was a little bit dizzy, perhaps from the heat, or lack of sleep - kept up all night with Cloud’s story ringing through his head. Perhaps that was why when a large swell built up in the ocean and a large wave washed across the shore up to his knees and sending Cloud yelping with the sudden shock of cool water, he lost his balance, the suction of the returning wave pulling his legs out from underneath him.

He heard Cloud yell out his name before he was face-planting into the ocean, arms stretched out in front of him. He landed on his hands and knees in the water, soaked to the bone, his hair limp, floating on the water’s surface like silver filigree.

“Oh gods— Sephiroth, you okay? That was a freak wave.” Cloud was laughing, kneeling next to him, eyes shining in mirth. He offered Sephiroth a hand.

Sephiroth took it, was about to pull himself to his feet when suddenly another wave came. This time, it knocked Sephiroth into Cloud, who lost his balance and fell backwards with a yelp, Sephiroth trying to find purchase in the sand. They were both up to their ears in water, looking like strange jellyfish with their t-shirts billowing. And then they surfaced, Cloud spluttering, his hair finally tamed. Sephiroth was about to comment, when Cloud gasped, “You look like grandpa grudge.”

Sephiroth glared at him through his curtain of silver hair, decided it was beneath his dignity to answer and with a toss of his hair that sent water droplets showering around them, he started picking his way to back to shore.

“Hey —” Cloud’s hand was on Sephiroth’s shoulder. “You’re not mad at me are you?”

Sephiroth turned, looked at his friend. Cloud was soaked to the bone, his hair dripping, eyes glowing, the trace of laughter still on his lips. He had been wearing a white shirt, and now it clung to every curve and muscle on his torso, his skin showing through. He was fascinated by Cloud’s eyes, the emotions that brewed beneath the surface, how the colour seemed to change to reflect the man’s inner state. Now, the colour was bright and clear, crystalline, sparkling, like a tropical sea. And there, the sunlight caught on tiny golden flecks that Sephiroth hadn’t noticed before, the discovery was as finding sunken treasure. No, how could he be mad. Sephiroth thought. It was an impossibility; he forgot anger, forgot such terrible emotions existed in the face of Cloud’s happiness.

“Of course not.”

Sephiroth frowned a little as Cloud kept staring at him, at his chest where his shirt also clung obscenely to his skin. Sephiroth tugged at it, attempting to preserve some modesty but only succeeded in shifting the fabric to one side. Cloud’s eyes flicked over to where the fabric caught on a nipple. He swallowed.

“Your hair.” Cloud was reaching up towards Sephiroth’s face, his face tinged pink. Sephiroth stood still as Cloud plucked something from his hair, a piece of kelp. His fingers brushed against Sephiroth’s cheek as they retreated, a touch that sent sparks jumping in his skin.

It was a simple impulse that made him grip Cloud’s arm, wanting to experience that curious sensation again, feel Cloud’s skin against his own. He knew Cloud was shocked by the complicated rush of emotions that flashed across his eyes, the way he unconsciously tugged at his shirt, the wrecked sound he made in the back of his throat.

“Cloud?” Sephiroth leaned closer, concerned. They were close - closer than they’d ever been before. Cloud took a deep, shaking breath, then suddenly he was pitching forward with intent, before stopping, holding himself back. There was a war going on behind those eyes, desperation, hope and conflict all at once. At that moment, Sephiroth felt the easiest thing to do, the kindest thing, was to close the final distance and press his lips against Cloud’s own. It was barely a kiss, just a touch.

Cloud tasted like the sea.

Sephiroth withdrew, studied Cloud carefully, waiting.

“I never dreamed —” Cloud was trembling.

A smile flitted across Sephiroth’s face. “You want me,” he said, pleased.

The look of uncertainty and shame flipped into annoyance. “Oh, _you arrogant bastard_ ,” Cloud groused, plunging his hands into the water and splashing it in Sephiroth’s direction. Sephiroth dodged, laughing. They chased each other across the beach, yelling like children.


	6. Sephiroth

The outposts are camps at the edges of ShinRa’s influence. The last full scale war was the conflict in Wutai, ever since then, things have been mostly quiet with small skirmishes taking place as various rebel factions cropped up in retaliation against the ShinRa tyranny. There were concerns a concentrated, collaborative effort was brewing, but so far, all they’d found were small guerilla bands. Sephiroth had been travelling between outposts, training new troops and honing the skills of experienced officers for several years now.

They usually cycled around different locations when there was no active conflict, so the infantrymen had experience in a variety of environments. But during active conflict, like the Wutai campaign, the training would take place in terrain specific to enemy turf. That had been a rather unpleasant half year of trudging through swampy rainforest and rescuing fainted infantrymen from the thin mountain air.

Breakfast was a satchet of instant coffee and a bowl of overnight oats prepared with sugar-free, fat-free chocolate jelly mixture. Sephiroth picked at it with mild distaste. That had been Zack’s idea back in the day, and he’d gotten it into a routine that was hard to break despite his indifference to the meal. It was lonely in the outposts. Aside from fellow troops, all other things seemed set on trying to kill you. Either it was man versus wilderness, or man against fellow man. He missed, sometimes, the relative safety of Midgar. He hadn’t returned home in years.

At 7am, the camp was stirring with the beginnings of life. Low murmurs as sleepy SOLDIERs rolled out of bed, shouts of the platoon leaders as they started physical training, punctuated by the shrill note of the whistle that dictated a soldier’s every waking hour. Each soldier learned absolute obedience. In war, the enemy gives you no time to falter.

Days spent in the grime of training were few and far between, now. Much of a General’s job was diplomacy. He had a visit with the village chief lined up, who had intel on the area. There had been a recent insurgence of rebel dissidents, with rumours of explosives, medicines and rations being stashed away in the surrounding hills in preparation for guerrilla warfare.

When the appointed time came, Sephiroth set off alone across the desert. The village shimmered into view as he crested a dune. From a distance, the granite houses looked like stone pillars. But drawing closer, one could see windows and doors carved in the hard rock. Small, dry shrubs clung to the ground near the entrances, lending some much needed life to the parched yellow landscape.

“General. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Chief Lombard was a man of medium height with a turban twisted around his forehead. He had a way of slow and deliberate speech that ensured conversations were carried out at his pace.

Sephiroth nodded and shook his hand with a gloved one. “Likewise.” He looked around. All the villagers had clustered in a huddle not too distant from their chief, bright eyed and curious. He noticed there were few young men, almost all older women or girls holding protectively to swaddled children. Children clinging behind legs and peeking out behind shawls.

“Ah—the past few years have not been kind to our men. You would understand the situation.”

Sephiroth nodded. The war in Wutai had been hard-won and required enlistment from provinces around Midgar. In remote places such as these, significant depletion in manpower was a weakness that neighbours could exploit, causing this sorry situation. “As ShinRa’s representative, I apologise for your loss,” he said formally.

Chief Lombard shook his head. “No need. All things act by its nature and the nature of a company is to bloat itself with expansion. Rather, I must thank you for finishing the war in Wutai. It has saved us further heartbreak. But, to more immediate matters!”

The mayor gestured Sephiroth into a room furnished with a stone table and two armchairs with woven reed mats. They discussed the rebel insurgence, the Mayor hinted that they had seen definite signs of activity. Sephiroth asked for exact times and locations, his brow furrowing. It was more serious than the reports had suggested. There were fresh prints, live mines set up along the road bordering the camp. Chief Lombard warned of increasing bravado in the last couple of days, the ShinRa name had sufficient power to keep them away for now, but in the coming weeks…

Sephiroth’s hand tightened over his sword. “And your village, Lombard? What would you like us to do for you?”

“Protect them,” the Chief said simply. “We were a strong, militaristic tribe in these parts, but no longer. I wish for my daughters and their children to live. Independent and free. Do this for us, and we owe you our _echna_.”

Echna was spirit. But also family and the tradition, the long history each village member etched in their souls.

“We have room in our camp. You should move as many people you can there, with utmost discretion, as soon as you are able. We can better protect you, that way.”

When they emerged back into the open air, a couple of children ran up to the Mayor and Sephiroth. Some of them tugged at Sephiroth’s long silver hair without self-consciousness, staring at him with wide eyes. They babbled something in their language that Sephiroth didn’t understand. But he was sure he understood the meaning – children were delightfully transparent and he enjoyed their company, reminding him of a childhood he never had. He bent down to one knee so that they were on the same level and unhooked Masamune from his waist.

“Look,” he said, pointing out the designs on the sword’s hilt. A crowd of curious, chubby faces leaned over to gain a closer look. One of them let out a cry of delight. A bird – the motif of a sparrow in flight was disguised in the long loops and swirls on Masamune’s hilt. And here – a desert flower, and there was a tonberry, a moogle, a cat…

By the time Sephiroth left, he was farewelled with a gaggle of excited goodbyes. Sephiroth smiled back at them.

7pm. Dinner at the mess hall. He sat alone.

8pm. He wrote a brief note in his PHS and sent it to ShinRa headquarters. _Rebel movement suspected. Will move vulnerable population into camp. STOP_.

9pm. He started to write a diary, but today like the day before, his pen paused on an empty page. The clock ticking on his nightstand seemed to drown out his thoughts, carrying all the emotions of the day away with him until he was as blank as the page. What was the point of it all? The sameness of every day. The soldiers didn’t show it but there was so much anxiety inside – everyone was chafing at the bit to go to war, yet when war finally came it was a living hell. Living this, day by day, sunrise to sunset, for what?

Last time, he had broke. It was a company secret – the Silver General could have no chinks in his armour. He had been unleashed at last in Wutai, a force of nature that swept enemy forces effortlessly aside. Later, faced with the crisis of grief and suffering he had caused, ShinRa had dismissed him with a slap on the wrist and told him to show up bright eyed bushy-tailed next morning. After the drunken frenzy of the battle, the lust for blood and death that had carried him through his duties was left without an outlet. A clock dictated the tempo of his day. Every military plan became a countdown to the next time he’d descend to the borders of insanity. It had almost drove him mad.

Reeve – the good man, had noticed, and before he knew it he had been dismissed from active duty, standing at the airport terminal with a small luggage case and a ticket to Costa del Sol. And there he had met… Sephiroth passed a hand over his eyes and let the memory of blond hair and glowing blue eyes wash over him. The familiar pain rose like a tidal wave, sucked him under, then it was past.

He found himself looking more carefully at the infantrymen these days, hoping to catch a glimpse of azure eyes.

* * *

After signing off the last of the papers with a brisk flourish of his pen, Sephiroth put down his aching wrist and relaxed in his chair. This was the part of the job that he hated most, the mounds of paperwork and bureaucracy. As the scope of ShinRa’s operations have grown, unfortunately, President Rufus’s insistence of knowing everything happening in his company hadn’t changed. God had not granted Rufus omniscience. Instead, the president employed paperwork, stacks of paperwork and forms organised alphabetically with neat little checkboxes his employees could tick so Rufus was satisfied that he knew exactly what was happening.

Long having reconciled himself to indulging his president, Sephiroth set aside one full day every week to go through the stack steadily piling up on his desk. As he worked his way through the pile, he’d set aside a second pile of things that required more detailed examination. On the second day, he would pick up his PHS and wait patiently as secretaries scrambled to put him into contact with their busy managers.

He read quickly through another form. “Kunsel.”

“Yessir!”

“The supplies are late. We’re running low on ammunition. Chase this up for me and see what you can find out about it, will you?”

Kunsel, a strapping lad with short black hair squashed flat by his uniform issued hat saluted at him. “Yessir.” He held the paper Sephiroth handed him delicately between thumb and forefinger, as if afraid of wrinkling that official looking parchment, and darted out of the room.

Kunsel soon came back, declaring himself with a click of his heels.

“Sir! It’s the rebels sir, they have waylaid the supply train. But Lt Armstrong says not to worry, sir, they have already dispatched another one expected to arrive in the next two days.”

An impenetrable, stoic expression came over Sephiroth’s features. He looked somewhere off into the distance behind Kunsel’s ears with intelligent green eyes. “And which supply train did the good Lt tell you was mislaid?”

Kunsel mopped sweat forming across his brows with a sleeve. His eyes darted around the room. “Ah— A745 sir, the new one from the shipment just last Thursday.”

Sephiroth’s right hand had been clenched so tight on his pen that the skin blanched, small pink spots slowly returning to his finger nails as he consciously relaxed his grip. “Thank you, Kunsel. You are dismissed.”

Kunsel’s squeak of a reply came out unintelligible as he fled, the calm almost nonplussed stoicness of the General’s expression and the way he carefully put down his pen and rearranged his desk at odds with a sudden chill in the room. He had the feeling that heads would roll, and Kunsel decided it wasn’t going to be his, today.

Sephiroth put on his jacket, picked up Masamune and buckled the sword to his waist. He then locked the room quietly behind him, only pausing to inform his second about supply train A745’s coup, causing the man’s lower lip to quiver and an weary look to come about his eyes as he shook his head as if divesting himself of all the pointless cruelties in the world. Sephiroth’s mouth was set in a grim, hard line as he left the camp just before noon, setting off alone into the tundra.

He couldn’t bring himself to be angry with Lt Armstrong. It was supposed to be an operation done in utmost secrecy, to transport the villagers under the cover of an unremarkable, routine supply run. The rebels should have little reason to incite the ire of ShinRa by hijacking the route. After all, the vehicles never carried valuables, they were autonomous and unarmed. They crossed a well-worn route through the desert, several of them each day. There should have been no reason, save for the slim chance that perhaps the rebels were less of an organised sortie that the chief had led him to believe - that they were starving, poorly supplied, desperate, haunted men who’d reached the end of the line.

Sephiroth ran with the pace of a SOLDIER, turning the miles to dust in his wake. There could still be time. If only Lt Armstrong had informed him in person instead of burying it under the pile of that accursed paperwork. But no, Sephiroth would not entertain the other possibility, and let hope spur him faster.

He spotted the vehicle in the distance, a metal rectangular box painted with ShinRa’s logo on the side. It was lying crookedly, half buried in the sand. One side of it was jagged and distorted, as if it had been wrenched off. There were bodies, the sound of broken sobs, moaning. The rebels had not taken all the supplies; a substantial pile lay spilled out over the sand. As for the people, he was too late to save them all, but there were still those he could help.

One of the children was first to spot him, he screamed, a high-pitched wail of fear and ran to Chief Lombard who clutched him close, consoling him with a hand rubbing soothing circles on the child’s back despite the bloody wound on his shoulder.

“Sephiroth.” There was hope in that voice that dispelled the weariness and seemed to galvanize the Chief into action. “You must take the children. The rebels - they’re coming back for the rest of the supplies. They’re weak from their exile and poorly armed, we can hold them off, but you must take the children.” The chief was gathering the children to him, so few from the gaggle that had surrounded Sephiroth just days before. Such brief lives, snuffed out too soon.

“We have to hold them off,” Sephiroth said. “I fear our transport won’t arrive in time. Our best bet is to see if we can salvage the supply vehicle and get it back on the tracks.”

The Chief nodded, swayed to his feet. “Let us help.” He spoke in his own language to the people who could still stand. There were so few of them, just one man and two sturdy looking women.

They worked quickly, emptying the remaining ammunition to lighten the load. Then, straining, with Sephiroth bracing on the far side while the three adults worked in concert on the other, they tipped the vehicle on the track. It settled in place with a wretched groan. “Quick— get in!” Sephiroth snapped, a nagging sixth sense warning him before everything descended into chaos and gunfire.

Sephiroth drew Masamune, cleaved it in complex, tightly interwoven arcs in the air, slicing and deflecting the bullets away from his young charges. He couldn’t save them all, but just one, one would be enough, one would redeem him…

The gunfire seemed endless and came from all directions. Where was that small, poorly armed, exiled force? _Idiot, idiot, idiot…_ he mentally snarled. The bullets left tracks of an odd, red light. Sephiroth had little attention to devote to that odd observation, so consumed with deflecting the bullets, but suddenly they petered out. The smoke cleared, revealing the rebels. Such a small, tired, pitiful band they looked with thin emancipated limbs, some so weak that they needed two to hold trembling the weight of the guns. The last things those terrified eyes saw was the flash of Masamune bearing down at them.

Sephiroth flicked the last flecks of blood off his sword before sheathing it. The sun beat down at him. His head was ringing, every movement felt like wading through mud.

He had to take command, they would be disorientated from the battle. He worked his parched throat. “Chief—”

At last, he turned. Not a soul stirred on the battlefield. The silence stretched endlessly like a chasm. It refracted in Sephiroth’s head, echoing upon itself until he heard nothing. Was this his fate? How cruel it all seemed, that it always ended the same way.

Sephiroth stood alone in the center of the field like a monument, while the corpses watered the soil. He stood there for a long time, waiting. For some divine providence, some sign, an angel that would touch him on the shoulder and remove all the pain and mortal affliction of being the last man alive, unable to protect anything. But of course, that touch never came and Sephiroth was left, again, to seize that agony and hide it deep inside of him.

He unsheathed the Masamune and used that graceful sword to hack roughly at the ground, digging small, child-sized pits in neat rows. And once all the children had been laid gently to rest, he used his sword to settle more soil on them like a duvet. Then he dug larger holes for the adults, the rebels, the good chief. When reinforcements finally came, the small crew of SOLDIERs found Sephiroth waiting, kneeling before a sea of graves, head tilted towards the sky as if he was listening for something.

When Reeve heard of the news, he immediately called Sephiroth and listened with growing horror as the man laid out the facts.

“They were ShinRa bullets, they must have reloaded from the supply truck. We were developing something new in the research department and I thought you’d wanted to try them out first. They are designed to fragment and hone in on non-mako enhanced lifeforms, for when the SOLDIER program is upscaled…” Reeve fell silent. “If I’d only known…”

“Enough.” It was the first trace of exhaustion Sephiroth expressed all afternoon.

“Take a break, a few weeks off would do you a world of good,” Reeve advised. “Now I know you detest medical advice or anything spewed by a person wearing a lab-coat, but I do have another copy of a psychiatric referral that I hope you won’t rip to pieces again. And a holiday too, I’ll even loan you my helicopter. Cool your head in the mountains. Cheer up, Sephiroth. There will always be casualties in war. Nothing you or anyone else could have done about it.”

After Reeve hung up, for some reason, Sephiroth found himself hovering over the ‘dial’ button next to Zack’s name. The phone rang twice, before Zack’s voice answered in his usual cheerful fashion. It quickly sobered as he heard the news.

“An outpost in the desert? Sounds bloody depressing,” Zack said sympathetically. “I’m not even gonna presume to understand what you’re feeling right now, I don’t have the right to. I just know you’re going through hell. But promise me you’re not doing it alone, okay? Come back to Midgar.”


	7. Guns n' Roses

It was the day before the evening dress round of pageant. Cloud spent the entire day cloistered in Madam Pomfrey’s studio, which she had generously lent out to him and Reagan for them to try on dresses. Reagan came in with a handful of gowns.

“This one?” Reagan showed Cloud a black dress with a lower haltertop that would reveal his shoulders.

“What about something with a bit more colour?” Cloud suggested. “I like the blue, it’s nice.”

“Ah— yes, a fine choice. The collar is very modern.”

Cloud shifted a little. “It’s a bit tight around my legs, maybe something that’ll let me move around a bit? You said there’s a dance, is that right?”

Reagan nodded. “Yes. It’s a ball, like the old days. The surroundings will be beautiful, there will be crystal ornaments, chandeliers… the lot. Very elegant.” He tipped his red hat at Cloud, abashed.

“Hm… what about that one?” Cloud pointed to a dress in the middle of the rack. Reagan pulled it out, letting the train fall into gentle waves onto the floor.

Cloud put on the dress. It felt soft on his skin. The fabric was pale, icy blue, silk and shimmered. The sleeves puffed out over Cloud’s shoulders. Cloud clipped on a pair of diamond studs with a dangling silver chain ornament and a necklace simply adorned with a single pearl.

“These will go with that dress perfectly!” Reagan offered up a pair of silver open toed stilettos.

“No heels. I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time.” Cloud said firmly. “Flats.”

Reagan deflated but handed him a pair of silver flats. He looked wistfully at the revealing black dress and stilettos.

“Beautiful dress! Reagan, dear, that long face doesn’t suit you. Why don’t you take a good look at Cloud? Isn’t that a perfect gown to wear to a ball?” Madam Pomfrey had been leaning against the doorway, tapping the stem of a long pipe against her cheek.

Reagan acquiesced, admitting, yes, it was a very elegant and respectable gown.

Madam Pomfrey chuckled. “Darling Reagan is all sad that his muse has an opinion of his own now. But don’t worry, he’ll come back to himself in no time. In fact, I think he’s quite proud of you. How does it feel, wearing a dress you’ve chosen? Does it feel like you’ve been transformed?”

Cloud lifted up his arms, showing the amount of room underneath the armpits, the allowance made for movement. He mimed swinging a sword. “It’s comfortable. I feel like myself.” He lifted the train, revealing the flats. “Being able to run is a bonus.”

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes crinkled. “Don’t leave one of those behind at midnight… otherwise you might need to put them to good use escaping from persistent suitors.”

She helped with Cloud’s makeup, choosing a lighter palette to suit the ethereal design of the dress. She accentuated it with dots of bright pink at the corners of Cloud’s eyes and his lips. The effect drew attention to Cloud’s eyes, brought out the subtle shades in the irises. Reagan was fascinated by the ring of green around his pupils before it blended into clear azure and insisted on getting too close with his camera and snapping closeups of Cloud’s eyes.

After it was all done, he washed his makeup off his face and folded the dress carefully in a plastic sleeve.

“Remember. Be here by early afternoon. The stage will open at 5pm, followed by the dinner and dance at 6pm. We need at least, at minimum of three hours to prepare, so I expect you to be here on 2pm sharp, as soon as you’ve finished lunch. Clear as mud?”

Cloud arrived home and collapsed on the sofa. There was a text from Zack on his PHS.

_Big day tomorrow! I’m gonna come over and we’re getting good-luck drinks. No excuses!_

Before Cloud could get his brain into order and inform Zack that really, he just wanted to sleep, there came an enthusiastic rapping on the door.

Cloud pulled it open and Zack bounded out like a jack-in-a-box, heralding his entrance with a loud, “Spike!” as he trapped Cloud in an armlock. “You’re gonna do amazing. The next Queen Midgar, I can feel it in my bones, my SOLDIER senses are tingling and let me tell you, they have never been wrong, that’s why I’m hale and hearty in front of you today. And you can show that prissy bastard where he really belongs.”

“Thanks, Zack.” Cloud smiled. “I’ve missed you, and everyone else. Tifa’s been telling me that the new guy they have just isn’t the same. It’ll be good to visit the Seventh Heaven and see everyone regularly again.”

Zack squeezed him tighter. “Come on, let’s crack open a few bubblies. I won’t be here for long — got a friend waiting for me downstairs. Showing him around Midgar y’ know, all the old haunts.”

Cloud helped carry the crate of wine bottles into his house. “Why don’t you invite him in, Zack?” He glanced outside the windowpane, blurry with condensation. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s cold outside.”

Zack perked up. “Aw man, you’re the best. I normally wouldn’t leave him like that but he’s a bit prickly around strangers. Y’ know the type?”

Cloud shrugged. “I don’t mind. One drink okay?”

With solemn ceremony, Zack held up his pinky. They shook on it.

In the meantime, Cloud rummaged around his kitchen, taking out glasses from the cabinets and a bottle opener from the drawer. He moved some cushions from the bedroom onto the couch, adding a pop of colour and liveliness to the room. Finally, he dragged his desk chair from his bedroom and set it up as the third seat, next to the sofa.

Zack was back, gesturing someone into the room. “Cloud, meet—”

He must have caught Cloud’s eyes widening, his expression changing from polite expectation to a complicated mixture of shock and nervousness, as he cut off, looking between Cloud and his guest with a frown.

A tall man with long silver hair, wearing a black trenchcoat and pea coloured trousers stepped across the threshold, ducking his head subconsciously as he glanced around Cloud’s apartment. Green eyes took in the small kitchen, the dusty coffee maker on the counter, the crayon drawing of a lily Cloud had won at a fair years ago. Upon seeing Cloud, they widened, mirroring his surprise.

“Sephiroth.” Cloud breathed. He seemed to run out of air, unable to do anything, think, rooted to where he stood as that tall, beautiful man, a face for so long that he’d seen only in his dreams materialised in front of him. Sephiroth, his hair loose, those eyes still as bright and alert as ever, staring straight at Cloud, open, piercing, knowing. Three years had not diminished the strong line of Sephiroth’s body, and as if a dam broke, all those forbidden thoughts and emotions Cloud had fought so hard to suppress rushed out and overwhelmed him. There was so much he needed to say, he wanted to cry, kiss him, let Sephiroth push him on the ground and fuck him hard.

Cloud flushed, blood rushing to his face all at once and sat down, dizzy.

“Cloud,” Sephiroth said at last. The sound of his name rolling off Sephiroth’s tongue like an caress. “We’ve met,” Cloud heard Sephiroth say to Zack.

“I’ve… never seen Cloud react like that,” came Zack’s anxious voice. A pause. “Right. Why don’t you talk to him? I’ll just be… outside.”

The door clicked shut. The couch dipped. In the periphery of his vision, Cloud saw the tips of silver hair brushing a knee that appeared next to his own, careful to maintain a safe distance between them.

“I never expected that we’d meet again, here. Is this your apartment? It feels homely.”

Finally, Cloud lifted his head a scant inch, looked into Sephiroth’s face. It hadn’t changed at all. That high aquiline nose, those jade-green eyes, lips curved into an ironic smile. “How do you know Zack?”

“I met Zack in SOLDIER, we were… good friends.”

Cloud felt unprepared, the lingering memory of that last day at the pier casting a shade between them.

“I see,” Cloud said, quietly. “Why are you here in Midgard? If I’d known--”

“Nothing would have changed,” Sephiroth interrupted. He sighed, crossed then uncrossed his legs, shifted a bit until he and Cloud faced each other at a slight diagonal. He interlaced those pale, fine boned fingers underneath his chin. “You were right. I thought… by sacrificing myself I could redeem the terrible things I had done, in the wars. But I couldn’t. Naively, selfishly, I thought the world operated on a divine set of scales that’d re-balance itself with whatever I do. That’s why I left, Cloud. I couldn’t be happy with you, when there were still debts I owed to the dead.”

Wordlessly, Cloud poured a glass of foaming white wine and pressed it into Sephiroth’s hand. “No. I was wrong. Back then, I shouldn’t have given up so easily on you. On us.”

Cloud reached out a finger, trailed it down Sephiroth’s cheek, trying to smooth that anguished expression away. He noticed deep, blue-black shadows beneath Sephiroth’s eyes, his hair falling limp, areas of raised skin on the corners of his fingernails where he’d picked them away, a dull despair in his eyes. The man recoiled, but eventually his eyes fluttered close, the harrowed crease between his elegant brows deepening.

Cloud continued. “You’re one of the kindest men I know, Seph. I don’t know what happened since then… but it was me, too. I should have known you better. I should have tried harder. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel like you’d have to shoulder everything alone. But I was so afraid of who I was. I loved you, but I’d never been openly in a relationship before and I was deathly afraid of messing it up.” He laughed softly, squeezed Sephiroth’s hand. “Isn’t it silly? I entered a pageant. But you know, I’ve learned something since then. Sometimes it’s just a leap of faith. Sometimes we just gotta believe that everything will turn out okay.”

Cloud’s finger traced across Sephiroth’s lips, remembering that familiar curve, the softness of it. They parted under his touch and Cloud swallowed as Sephiroth turned his head until the cool tip of his nose brushed the inside of Cloud’s wrist.

For a moment, they didn’t move, Sephiroth with his cheek pressed intently at the bounding pulse at Cloud’s wrist. He gave a great, shuddering sigh, then those green eyes fluttered open again. “Do you remember when we first met?”

Cloud breathed again. “Yes, how could I forget. It was a Wednesday morning. I had a late night at the club and needed a coffee to wake me up. I saw you at the cafe. You looked like an FBI agent, trying so hard to be discrete with those stupid sunglasses of yours and your hair tied back. You didn’t realise the effect you had on people. There was a presence around you, a charisma, but it was almost as if you were on a different plane of existence to others, you seemed so lonely.”

“And then you asked me something.”

“I asked what you would do with unrequited love?”

“And something else. What if they thought you repulsive for loving them.” Sephiroth was looking intently. “You asked me Cloud and I told you—”

Cloud whispered, “Wrapping it all up in military theory, because the only way you can comprehend love is to compare it to war. You told me to be honest. That no matter how painful it might feel to be hated by the one you love, it was the only path to true love, to true acceptance.”

“I’ve no family Cloud. I was raised to become SOLDIER. My whole life was in service to ShinRa… and after the war was over, other people had loved ones, families, people to go back to. I had nothing. I went mad, Cloud, normal life is a waking death when your very purpose for living is an instrument of war. But then I met you, and I felt human again. After we separated, I was determined to nurture the lesson you taught me. I found purpose, people I wanted to protect. But I failed, Cloud. I rebelled against my nature and was punished for it.”

Cloud’s hand was numb and cold from where Sephiroth’s grip had unconsciously tightened into a tourniquet. He squeezed his fingers, extending them again in a sharp gesture that betrayed an ire at Sephiroth’s words. “I don’t care who you think you are, Seph. Monster, not human, ShinRa, military, whatever. I see you — the flesh and blood man in front of me right now. That’s all that matters.”

Time suspended, slowly unraveled like loose threads.

Sephiroth placed one hand gently, the barest feather touch on Cloud’s shoulder and Cloud let himself fall down onto the couch. Sephiroth followed, pressing down hard on Cloud’s shoulders, their legs tangling, one of his knees squeezed between Cloud’s thighs. Sephiroth bowed his neck, graceful as a swan, hair tumbling down to rest upon Cloud’s chest and pressed his lips gently against Cloud’s. It was chaste; a question, a plea, an act of immense restraint.

Cloud shot out an arm, buried his hands in Sephiroth’s hair and yanked the man down on him, crushing their lips together in a furious clash of teeth, tongue, biting, desperate, breathless kisses.

_A leap of faith._

Sephiroth pushed his hair back across his neck so it fell across one side of his shoulders, pupils blown, green eyes dark and lit with a frenetic light.

“I want to fuck you, Cloud.”

Cloud bit back a groan. “Yes—”

Sephiroth silenced him with another kiss. Hands slipped under Cloud’s shirt, leaving lines of fire as they traced the contours of his abdomen, sliding up to caress his chest, then divesting Cloud of his loose black t-shirt in one fluid movement. Cloud shivered as Sephiroth began sucking a line down his jaw, biting at his skin and soothing it with his tongue, pain and pleasure coursing through Cloud’s veins like a drug.

Cloud clutched desperately at Sephiroth, any bare inch of skin he could reach, wanting to feel the man. Sephiroth, noticing Cloud’s frustration, paused for a moment to shrug off his coat and shirt. Cloud’s breath hitched as that beautiful, strong, toned body, muscles stripped of any wastefulness hovered over him. He let his hands trace eagerly over Sephiroth’s face, down the graceful line of his neck, catching the bumps of his collarbone, down further along the pecs, the abdomen until he reached the hem of Sephiroth’s pants. Sephiroth shivered under his touch, but those eyes never let him go, they drank him up, shining with ardent desire. Both of them were trembling with restraint, but they were compelled to hold still in the moment, skin on skin, so close they could feel each other’s breaths mingling, carefully committing this suspended moment to memory - such a precious, delicate moment that history has told them is so easily shattered.

They kiss, again, desperate, open-mouthed kisses as their tongues slid against each other, tasting each other, drinking each other whole. Fumbling blindly, Cloud’s hand found the hardness pressing into his thigh and squeezed, causing Sephiroth’s breath to hitch, and at last they pulled away from the kiss to free themselves of the rest of their clothing.

This time, it was Cloud who pressed Sephiroth back onto the sofa, one leg on the ground, the other reaching across to straddle Sephiroth’s hips. He braced himself with one hand on his abdomen, blond hair falling forward over his eyes. Then, intent and deliberate, he took Sephiroth’s member in his mouth. Sephiroth’s fists clenched and relaxed as he trembled, helpless in pleasure as Cloud brought him tantalizingly close to the peak.

His fingers clutched at the back of Cloud’s head, buried in the small, fine hairs at the nape of his hair to steady Cloud’s movements. With a small, wet pop, Cloud released him, lips red and swollen from use, hair disheveled from Sephiroth’s grip. Cloud let his fingers curl loosely on Sephiroth’s cock, absently stroking it as he looked at Sephiroth, his head cocked almost insolently to one side, a faint smile on those swollen lips. “Hey… don’t cum yet.”

With one fluid movement, Sephiroth flipped them over so that Cloud was prone on the couch, ass in the air. When Sephiroth returned the favour, reaching one hand around and swiftly jerking Cloud’s already hard member, Cloud couldn’t control the low, broken moan that spilled from his lips. Sephiroth whispered, “I’m going to tell you where you can touch, Cloud.” He caressed the nape of Cloud’s neck, firm, dominating. “I want to see you _beg_ for me.”

 _“Fuck.”_ Cloud hissed with the loss of Sephiroth’s hand around his hardness. His skin was crawling, on fire, every breath, every touch sent prickles of pleasure through his body. And now Sephiroth was telling him to pleasure himself. He imagined Sephiroth watching him with approving eyes, the enjoyment as Cloud hung on every word, his pleasure at Sephiroth’s command. He swore again when he realised how much that thought aroused him.

“One finger inside you.”

Cloud wiggled a finger in. He was tight, so tight, he thought with amazement. _Planet, it’s been too long._

“Stroke yourself.” Cloud wrapped his other hand around his cock and slowly jerked himself to the rhythm of his other hand. The familiar anticipation was building deep within his stomach now, he let his head fall forward and his eyes shut in surrender, lost in the sensation.

“Two fingers.” Gently, he stretched himself, forcing himself to slow, jerky aborted movement as he held himself back, almost desperately from the edge. It seemed to go on for an eternity, he felt poised, ready to receive Sephiroth. The fear was gone now, his body was full of a single intent and he embraced it, recognised the desire as a part of himself. When at last, he felt something hot, throbbing breach him, he cried out. He was so thick, it filled him up, the tinge of pain soon giving way for an inexorable need for Sephiroth to move.

Sephiroth’s hands were braced against Clouds hips, he stroked Cloud absently for a moment and then he started moving, deep, steady, controlled thrusts and Cloud could only scrabble to ride the pin-pricks of pleasure that built, threatening to overwhelm him. “N-not yet,” he gasped. “ _Sephiroth!”_

It was a broken plea, he could feel his control slipping away, the pleasure throbbing, his whole body prickling with the agony of denied release.

At last, Sephiroth reached over and grasped Cloud’s heavy, aching cock and gave several firm strokes. He whispered permission in Cloud’s ear. And Cloud came with a shout, cresting the wave of the orgasm, consumed by relief and ecstasy. His legs trembled. He felt Sephiroth shudder, groan, something warm and wet filling him up and dribbling down his thigh.

They lay there in each others arms on the ruined sofa for a while, breathless and panting. They were sticky with each others fluids, the couch needed a deep clean, but Cloud was content to leave the future alone as he breathed deeply - revelling in Sephiroth’s scent, his warmth, his closeness, the heavy arm draped lazily around Cloud’s hips, the peaceful, fond way Sephiroth watched his every move.

Sephiroth pressed a gentle kiss to Cloud’s temples. “Shower?”

“No, stay a little longer.” Cloud gave Sephiroth an odd little smile, one cheek mushed into the cushion. He lay there quietly, listening to the drum of Sephiroth’s heart. One hand found Sephiroth’s, wordlessly entwined their hands.

“I’ll be here,” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did... research for this chapter (in private browsing mode).


	8. When the Clock Strikes Midnight

Cloud woke up to a strip of sunshine falling across his eyes. He squinted, raised an arm to shield himself, surprised when it was numb, caught under something heavy and warm. Cloud blinked fast, but the vision remained of Sephiroth’s long body stretched out on his bed, head turned to one side, the lines of his face relaxed in sleep, mouth slightly parted. They were both naked, Cloud noticed, and the memories of the previous night came back all at once, making his face flame. Gently, Cloud freed his arm and tried to massage some sensation into it. It had been trapped under Sephiroth’s shoulder, where Cloud had, in his sleep, attempted to cling on to Sephiroth like an octopus.

With a fond glance at his — boyfriend? Lover? — Cloud inched out of bed, feeling light and peaceful. He shuffled into the living room, body aching in surprising places, opening the blinds to let in some light. It was a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, furniture displaced, dried patches in select areas that immediate recalled more memories that made Cloud both aroused and incredibly embarassed. Cloud made his way around the room, picking up clothing and straightening furniture until it vaguely represented his home as he left it last night. He made his way to the small kitchen, reached for his tea, then changed his mind halfway and dusted off the neglected coffee maker. He rummaged in his cupboard and found an old bag of roasted beans. It was past its expiry date, but Cloud gave it a sniff and deemed it fit for consumption. But just to be safe, he made two cups, one from a sachet of instant he found in the corner of the cupboard instead.

When Sephiroth wandered in to the room, he was wearing one of Cloud’s black boxers and nothing else. Arms twined around Cloud’s waist and then Sephiroth’s chin was propped on his shoulder as he gave an interested whiff of the eggs Cloud was cooking on the stove.

“Coffee’s on the table,” Cloud said. “Pick your poison.”

He could feel Sephiroth’s smirk. “Normal people wish each other good morning,” he said, one elegant eyebrow lifting as he leaned against the counter and took an experimental sip of the coffee. He murmured, “Devil’s concoction. I’ll need an antidote for that.”

Before Cloud could react, Sephiroth was kissing him. Cloud could taste the smoky bitterness of the instant on Sephiroth’s tongue. He stumbled away from the stove, mindful of the flame, hands coming up to wrap around Sephiroth’s head. He deepened the kiss, head tilting to an angle for better access as Sephiroth’s hands teased long, fiery lines down his sensitized torso, the memories of the night previously a promise of what’s to come. He shivered, already feeling himself harden and broke off the kiss with a gasp. He ducked his head, averting his eyes, because he knew his self-control would be robbed by one look in those intent green orbs. “Breakfast first,” he managed. Sephiroth smirked, plucked the spatula out of Cloud’s limp grip and took over the cooking.

“How would you like yours?” he asked.

“Sunny-side up,” Cloud said.

They had breakfast together in silence, a post-coital glow, a connection that rendered words unnecessary. Cloud picked at his eggs, couldn’t help glancing up at Sephiroth. Sephiroth seemed to be doing the same, each of them confirming each other’s presence. Last night felt like a particularly intense, vivid dream. But waking up with Sephiroth, eating breakfast together, cooking the eggs how Cloud liked them, the perfect golden yolk nestled in the white, edges crisp and fluffy… it felt real. Sephiroth was in his life.

He could stay, they would wake up together each morning, Cloud would return home on Friday evenings and they’d cuddle on the couch and watch awful movies. Their time at Costa del Sol was like a dream, an oasis removed from real life. But this, this was real.

“What are your plans for today?” Cloud asked. _What about for the future?_

“Talk to Zack. I left him quite abruptly last night, it was impolite of me.”

“Oh, true. I’ll give him a call too, it was kinda my fault after all… he’s going to have so many questions.” Cloud waved a fork at him. “We better rehearse this. What are we, Seph? Ex-boyfriends, friends with benefits, lady and the tramp?”

“Lovers,” Sephiroth said quietly, he took a bite of his egg. Cloud’s heart lurched. “I want to give this a try, Cloud.”

“Last night— everything you said—”

“You’re the first one I’ve told,” Sephiroth admitted. “A General must be the pillar from which his soldiers draw their strength. There is no room for vulnerability, for self-doubt. It’s been destroying me from within, like an apple rotting from the core.”

“You’re not a monster.”

“Thank you,” he said simply. Then, “Forgive me, even if it comes from you Cloud. I’m not so convinced, not yet. It will take time.”

“But you still want to try.”

“Yes.”

“That’s all that matters.” Cloud touched the stud on his ear, swallowed. “Come to the fair, 6pm today.”

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. “One of ShinRa’s? You know how awfully contrived they are —”

“Just come.”

“I prefer you saying that in bed.”

“Oi—”

* * *

Cloud made it there at 2pm sharp. If he was walking a little oddly, no one commented. It was rush of frenetic activity as he was passed from hand to hand, plonked on chairs, whisked to rooms, emerging from each step a little more bewildered, a little more put together. Finally, “Miss Cloud” was assembled in her full glory and then the stagehands were passing between attendants, handing out numbered cards. Cloud received a piece of square white cardboard with a number ‘17’ emblazoned on top.

And then the curtain was lifted, the spotlight cast. The parade began on the dot, and creatures of all shapes, sizes and dress began making their way across the platform, each beautiful in their own way. At last, it was Cloud’s turn. The roaming spotlight found him, and as he was dazzled, he could no longer make out the flashes of cameras, the gleaming eyes admiring the stage. It was just him and that dress, the blue evening gown that shimmered under the light draping in soft waves of fabric that rustled with each step. He walked, poised, confident, an aloof fae prince come to earth.

He had a vague sense of the effect he made from the sigh that rippled through the audience at his approach, but it slipped easily off his mind as oil to water. He felt fully contained within himself, untouched by other people’s judgements. At last the spotlight retreated. Buoyed, he lifted his train and walked backstage.

When Reagan and Madam Pomfrey greeted him after the walk with tears in their eyes, Cloud gave them both a loose embrace.

Reagan wiped his eyes. “I saw a vision, a foam-topped Venus, no, Bacchus.”

“Now, don’t waste your tears, Reagan. The night is still young.” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed.

The ball was held in an old church. It been repurposed long ago, but the skeleton of gothic cathedral architecture remained, lending it an austere elegance. Multi-tiered crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, throwing shards of light around the room. The stained glass windows soared from floor to ceiling, with an enormous rose window taking up the far side. The center of the room had been cleared, the floorboards polished and gleaming, waiting for the feet of waltzers to glide across the surface. On the sides of the room, there were arrayed long tables stacked high with platters of delicacies. A separate table was reserved for wine, juice for the children. ShinRa made itself known, however, with the logo snuck inconspicuously, but one could not help noticing it, in various areas around the room, such as the corner of a handkerchief, a design on a cup, to remind the people about their kind benefactor.

Next to the door, a more blatant display of propaganda took the form of a mechanised robot cat that presented each arriving guest with a ShinRa flyer.

Cloud stared at his copy in disgust. “ _Another_ Mako reactor. Planet, no wonder the ratings have dropped.”

Reagan shrugged. “The gil has to come from somewhere.”

“Somewhere that’s not the lifeblood of the planet.”

“Nothing us ordinary citizens can do about it. Oh! And here’s the music. Step lively, Cloud.”

A band had set up station at the foot of the chaise on the far side of the room. They struck up a tune. Already, dancers were finding their places in the center of the hall. It was a gaudy, jaunty affair with much merriment and trodden toes. Cloud kept to the side of the room, suddenly shy. He wandered over to a table and grabbed some food. It was an exotic looking morsel of grilled fish wrapped in pine leaves.

“Cloud!”

Zack was waving at him from across the room. He’d just arrived, wearing a white collared shirt and slacks. Behind him, Aeris was smiling, stunning in her long red dress, brown hair curled secured in a ponytail by a red satin bow. And there was Tifa, in a short blue dress, and a gruff Garrett tugging self-consciously at his bow-tie, Marlene wrapped around his arm. Then, a good head above most of them, was Sephiroth, his long silver hair tied back, dressed in a black shirt with the top few buttons undone, revealing part of his collarbone. He was looking around the room, taking it all in his thoughtful, scrutinizing way.

Upon seeing Cloud, Sephiroth’s brow arched slowly as recognition flitted across his face.

The whole party made their way over towards him. Aeris and Tifa were delighted with Cloud’s dress, insisting on turning him around and around like a rotating mannequin to see all the details. Garrett laughed good-naturedly and congratulated Cloud with a hearty slap on the shoulder, managing only a few teasing remarks before Marlene was tugging him away to see the rest of the venue.

Despite Cloud’s anxiety, Zack displayed no other emotion aside from good-natured ebullience. When the girls had wandered off, ostensibly to look for dance partners, Zack turned on them, eyes gleaming murder.

“My two best friends! And _none_ of you told me!”

“We weren’t a thing —” and “I hardly knew him —” they replied at once.

Cloud and Sephiroth glanced at each other. Sephiroth turned away first, light pink dusting his high cheekbones.

Zack was wide-eyed. “Sephiroth… _blushed._ Holy crap. Cloud, who is this imposter and which broom closet did you stow the real thing in?”

“Zack!” Cloud protested.

But Zack had grabbed both their hands, joining them together. “I hereby bless your union, may you live long and prosper and not drive each other mad. Fitting this is a church, huh? Aw man, and I promised Cloud I’d beat up his boyfriend if he hurt him. Heard that, Sephiroth?”

Sephiroth sighed. “Yes. No hurting Cloud, if only for the sake of your own health and safety, Zack.”

They laughed. Soon, Zack excused himself with a wink at Cloud, and vanished into the throng.

“Well, shall we dance?”

“The pleasure’s all mine, _Miss Cloud._ ”

“Shut up _._ ”

* * *

As the sun dipped, the light filtering in the cathedral windows lost its luster, washing everything in a warm rosy haze. At the same time, the chandelier lights brightened like tiny stars.

Sephiroth and Cloud danced.

At last, the floor emptied, the reverie dispelled by a voice coughing into a microphone.

“And now… to announce the winners.”

Silence settled over the room.

Cloud glanced at Sephiroth, finding strength in that stoic profile.

“Queen Midgar! Miss Celerity Watt.”

Polite applause as a chimera with pointed fox ears, a slender face with hints of Wutai heritage and a sturdy legs of Midgard stock climbed up to the stage, bowing to receive her crown.

Cloud let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

“What are you going to do about the settlement?”

They’d discussed this during a break in the festivities, Cloud catching up Sephiroth on the whole unusual situation.

Cloud shrugged. “Honest work, I guess. I’ll still have the 50,000 gil from participating, too.”

“I’ll help.”

“How? You’re not going back to the military are you?” Cloud kept his tone nonchalant, but his heart pounded. He had hated to see Sephiroth that day, so worn down, dull and defeated looking. Today, Sephiroth was vibrant, beautiful. He looked like a man restored, the light in his eyes amused instead of fanatic, his smile soft not deranged.

“No. Not yet. I’ll help you in your business.”

Cloud had a mental image of Sephiroth in combat uniform, parcels in hand, striding at a SOLDIER’s speed through Midgar. He imagined opening a door to receive a anonymous wrapped box from a scowling Silver General looming over him, Masamune swinging from his hip, and immediately vetoed the idea.

How to put this diplomatically? “Seph, you do know you have a reputation…”

Sephiroth gave him a look. “Behind the scenes, Cloud. I know I should lay low.”

And that was when Cloud discovered Sephiroth’s hence untapped administrative abilities, a natural proclivity to numbers and organisation, honed by years working under Rufus Shinra’s ruthless system of paperwork. They agreed that it would let Cloud carry out more deliveries in a shorter timeframe, as Sephiroth took care of the ordering and route-design. Cloud raised the question of where Sephiroth planned to stay, and where they should work from. Cloud’s office had always been his home, so naturally the possibility rose that Sephiroth would rent out space in Cloud’s apartment - which, given he lived in a one-bedroom apartment, was a thinly disguised excuse to move in.

None of them protested.

* * *

At the end of the night, Cloud found Reagan refilling one last glass from the punch bowl.

“Cloud!” the man cried. He had taken off his red, floppy hat, smartly dressed in a bright green tuxedo. There were small tears shining on his cheeks. “It’s a pity about the results, absolutely left field.”

Cloud found himself smiling, a swell of joy that suddenly overcame him. “It turned out great in the end. More than great.”

Reagan shook his head, patted Cloud’s shoulder. “Well! I’m happy for you. Such a pity though, a pity…”

He wandered off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, looking somewhat stiff and overdressed in his tuxedo.

“Thanks!” Cloud called out after him.

Sometimes fate found strange mediums to act through. If nothing else, he owed Reagan that.


	9. Epilogue

_One month later._

It was the end of a long day filling delivery orders from across Midgar. He was sweating, he stunk of petrol - a sharp, ascerbic smell; the flight of stairs to his apartment seemed insurmountable. Stifling a groan, Cloud stomped up the stairs with heavy footsteps. The door was in sight. Before he remembered, blearily, that he had left his keys in the back of Fenrir back at the garage, the door opened.

Sephiroth took in Cloud’s sorry state with a frown. He offered an arm, and Cloud clutched it with relief as Sephiroth hauled his protesting body into the room, setting Cloud down on the couch. After ensuring Cloud was ensconced in enough cushions and thick blankets to prevent him from causing further injury to himself, Sephiroth returned with a mug of warm hot chocolate, handing it to his lover.

“Today’s route,” he said, calmly. “Should have taken you from Sectors 1 to 5, _not_ the whole city, and certainly not the Upper Plate. I also noticed papers missing from my desk.”

A pause. Cloud groaned.

“Alright! I took them. I know, they’re tomorrow’s deliveries, but it’s such as small area and I’d already finished the one you gave me today early. Really early.” Sephiroth looked unconvinced. “I had time, Seph.”

“You. Had time to sleep, instead of getting up at an unhealthy hour of the morning. Or, skipping meals. Driving over the speed limit.” Cloud buried his face deeper in the cushions with each accusation.

“Alwert chu wyin,” he said, muffled.

Sephiroth sighed, crossed his legs. He put one hand on Cloud’s head and tilted his chin up. “There will be consequences,” he told him. Cloud shivered.

Abruptly, Sephiroth let go, and Cloud let his head flop forward onto Sephiroth’s shoulder. He was warm, comfortable, a reassuring presence. Cloud’s arms snaked around Sephiroth’s body and tightened. They stayed like that a little longer, breathing quietly, the stresses of the day dissolving in each others arms. At last, Sephiroth untangled himself from Cloud’s bear-like embrace, picked Cloud up and moved him into the shower.

He removed Cloud’s clothes, gently pulling each item off Cloud’s body, stiff with sweat. When Cloud was naked, Sephiroth turned on the warm water. It felt good, Cloud lifted his head to it, let it run down his face, caressing his closed eyelids and rinsing the dirt from his body.

“Love you,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure if Sephiroth was still there, or if he heard over the sound of the water, but imagined an answering smile.

Afterwards, dressed in a clean pair of pajamas, a loose white shirt and sweatpants, he climbed into bed. Sephiroth was on the other side, reading with the bedside lamp turned at an angle so that Cloud’s side remained in darkness.

They were quiet, Cloud fighting the beckoning arms of sleep. He remembered something about his day that he thought amusing. “People were recognising me left n’ right today.”

“Hm?”

“Like, really weird looks. The way you’d look at a celebrity or something, a less famous one though,” he clarified. “No one asked for signatures.”

“A shame.”

“Right?” He snorted, a burst of laughter that woke him up a little. A rustling, a shift of weight and then Sephiroth was pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Go to sleep, Cloud.”

“Yessir,” he grumbled, but surrendered to blessed unconsciousness.

* * *

Tifa was overseeing the redecoration of the Seventh Heaven bar. It was a long, expensive process, but at last they were on the final stretch. They’d kept familiar fixtures, like the arcade game in the corner and the polished wooden counter. But she’d changed the table set up, adding extra counters next to the window, and expanded the capacity with an additional heated outdoor seating area.

She’d also bought a calendar for the new year. Tifa positioned the calendar up against the wall, measuring it with a critical eye. At last, deciding it’ll look best positioned opposite the clock, she pinned a nail to the picture-rail and hung it up, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“Delivery, miss!” piped out an employee.

“Coming!” Tifa called. But Cloud was already pushing through the door, preceded by a massive wooden crate that obscured all but a few tufts of blond hair.

“Where do you want them?” Cloud asked, looking around the bar with curious blue eyes, taking in the new decor.

Tifa grinned. “You like it?”

“Yeah—” Cloud’s smile abruptly froze. Tifa followed the direction of his gaze.

“Oh! That’s the new calendar I got. It’s cute, isn’t it.” She laughed. “Do you want a copy, Cloud?”

Cloud put the crate down, hard, the bottles clattering together in a cacophonous tune. He was already striding out the door, sliding his goggles over his eyes, his mouth set in a grim, murderous line.

Tifa didn’t mind him. She admired the calendar again. It was, truly, a great investment in more ways than one. Immortalized in glossy, laminated paper, the year’s calendar featured the many facets of Queen Midgar’s most contentious participant: one Miss Cloud.

* * *

The search for a mysterious peddler in a red, floppy hat proved fruitless until Cloud confessed it all after Sephiroth cornered him and demanded to know why he’d been suddenly _skipping_ delivery routes. And Cloud admitted that he’d been taking detours, chasing after a paper trail of transactions of a mystery item. After further wrangling, Sephiroth squeezed out the whole story of Tifa’s bar, and the calendar.

Cloud wished he’d brought Sephiroth on board sooner, because almost immediately, via word from unnamed ShinRa contacts, he gave Cloud an address. Sephiroth insisted on coming with him, so they squeezed onto Fenrir, Sephiroth hanging on to Cloud’s waist, and drove to their destination.

The news of their arrival must have preceded them, likely via the same channels that had Cloud on a wild-goose chase throughout the Slums, as Reagan was waiting outside with his head bowed and his red hat clasped demurely in his lap, looking contrite.

“I’m sorry, but copies have already been printed,” Reagan shrugged. “We can’t do a recall, it just isn’t feasible.”

“No, I get that.” Cloud took a deep breath. “I want royalties. Ten-percent of your asking price.”

Reagan flushed. “You received 50,000 gil already! Any more than that is robbery, extortion, I refuse—” He opened his mouth, it hung open, his eyes wide, then he shut it again, mechanical like a marionette. “Yes, of course,” he squeaked.

Cloud blinked, wondering at the sudden change. He heard the sound of something metallic being sheathed from behind him.

“Seph!” he admonished.

Sephiroth merely looked at him. “The first thing you do when you hit the bed, is collapse unconscious on it. The excess workload you take up to pay back the settlement is encroaching quite unacceptably into our home life.” He turned back to Reagan. “Please draw up a new contract for the royalties. Ten-percent is a fair amount.”

Cloud gaped, the implication not lost on him. And deep inside, he felt a messy ball of guilt, love and desire, a helpless tide of affection rising as he watched Sephiroth and Reagan argue in front of him. It had been a long road, fraught with difficulties, but they’d made it. The specter of ShinRa and Sephiroth’s duties was a shadow around the corner, but for now, he felt buoyant.

It was enough, he thought. These simple times of happiness.


End file.
